


Worst Kept Secrets

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: - helpless targets, Angst and Feels, Archaeology - for fun, Big Brother Mycroft, Coming Out, Crazy Golf, Engagement, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Homophobia, Honeymoon, Idiots in Love, John Being an Idiot, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Paintball, Parasailing, Playing Pirates, Scars, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Swimming, Weddings, a little ooc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-05-07 06:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5446604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt:</p><p>What if the thing Mycroft did to upset Mummy... was to come out? What if, as a teenager, Mycroft decided to tell his family that he is gay, and his parents disowned him for it? It's okay now, he runs the British Government, he IS the British Government, but there's still that tiny part of him that wants his parent's acceptance, especially now he's found the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Could Start With Hello

“You know, Sherlock,” commented Mycroft, “I should have taken your advice.”

Sherlock looked up in surprise from where he was sat on John's lap. “My advice?”

“About not telling Mummy.” He nodded to Greg who had nodded off with his head in his lap.

“That was years ago, Mycroft. Mummy's better now.”

The elder Holmes sighed. “But is she really? Will she be kind to him? Will she accept him?”

John's was frowning, looking from one Holmes to the other in confusion.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip.

“You haven't told her, have you?”

“Told her what?” John was seriously confused now.

Mycroft looked between them and ran his hand through the hair on the head in his lap.

“About the two of you.”

The detective shook his head, looking consternated. “When Mycroft came out, Mummy was less than pleased.” He sighed. “I chose to avoid the hysterics.”

Mycroft looked even more serious than normal. “We're getting married. I'll not hide it from her.” He ran his fingers through Greg's silver hair.

“Oh! Congratulations,” John beamed at the couple, one half of which was still sleeping.

Before Mycroft could acknowledge John, Sherlock broke in, “We'll go with you, openly, as your support.”

“You mean you'd already deduced their engagement?”

Sherlock nodded slightly and leant up to kiss him. “I didn't know what he was going to say or whether he'd bring it up.”

Mycroft smiled at his brother, appreciating his offer and continued support. Sherlock had been there for him even before his younger brother had understood about his own sexual orientation. How would he have weathered his coming out without Sherlock?

The problem was, in order to tell mummy with Sherlock's support, his baby brother would have to come out too, but one thing was for certain, he wouldn't run this time. This time he was the British Government and he would not let Sherlock get treated the way he had been.

“I wouldn't let her, Myc.” Sherlock had no problem knowing what his brother was thinking. “I have John to consider. I won't stand by and let him be insulted.”

“Ahh, are the Holmes boys being sentimental?” John set about tickling his lover until he was giggling like a toddler. He was secretly gobsmacked and over the moon at the same time at Sherlock's words, but he wasn't going to do a deep heartfelt speech in front of the older Holmes.

“Mycie,” Greg moaned, rolling over and nudging into Mycroft's cock. “Loud.”

“I think it's about time you woke up, Babe.”

The DI sat up, his hair ruffled and still looking tired. It had been a hard week pursuing cases that fell far below Sherlock's minimum requirement of a 4.

John grinned at him, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Greg nudged his partner in the ribs with his elbow. “I thought we were telling them together.”

Mycroft grabbed his wrist. “We did tell them together.”

“I meant, when I was conscious. So, I gather a visit to your parents is in order?”

Mycroft looked uncomfortable, but determined.

“We don't have to, Mycroft. I don't care if they know.”

“No,” Mycroft peered into his fiancé's eyes, “I'll not have you be my dirty secret.”

“Enough of the dirty,” Greg grumbled, punching him on the arm.

John laughed. “I don't understand though.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It's a play on words. 'Dirty' suggesting...”

“Oi! You. I get that. What I don't get is all this talk about your mother.” John looked back and forth from Mycroft to Sherlock.

“It doesn't matter,” Sherlock whispered after a glance to his brother.

“It does matter.”

Sherlock sighed. “Mycroft had a bit of trouble with his first boyfriend.”

“I was in university.”

“But didn't your mother 'deduce' it about you?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Mummy doesn't do that. Father did but, well…”

“We've got no idea why he never mentioned it.”

Greg toed off his shoes, he should have done that earlier. “Maybe he knew what kind of reaction she'd have. Wanted to avoid it.”

“Possibly,” Sherlock agreed. “Probably,” he conceded after a glance at John. “But that didn't stop Mycroft opening his mouth and putting his foot in it.”

“And that's how he 'Upset Mummy.'“ John gave Sherlock a look. “I've heard more of your sniping over the years than you think.”

Sherlock bit his lip, looking slightly ashamed. “Sorry about that, Mycroft.”

“Sorry, little brother?” For once it was the British Government that looked confused. “Sorry about what?”

“I never should have used it against you during our little feud.”

“You never meant anything by it.” Mycroft smiled at him. “Do you remember kicking Mummy in the shin for the things she said to me that night?”

“No, but I remember trying to chase after you and getting grabbed by my ear so tightly I thought it would fall off.”

“You were 9, you knew better than that.”

“I also remember the feeling in my arse afterward.” He looked grave for a moment. “She didn't stop hitting me till Father came in. Father didn't say much, just carried me to bed. I remember him telling me he was proud of me for sticking up for my brother, but I couldn't kick people, especially Mummy. He seemed sad.”

“I had just told him I was moving out.”

“You had already moved out to Oxford.”

“Permanently. That's why you came to live with me when I was 17.”

“But you'd finished then…”

“Exactly. Father didn't want Mummy having reason to hit you like that again.”

It got eerily quiet for a moment, Greg and John taking in the new information about the Holmes brothers' youth. What other painful memories were the brothers harbouring?

Mycroft huffed and leant back in his chair, it was a matter of seconds before he rocked over and rested his head on the DI's shoulder. “We're going to have to go and see them, Sherlock.”

The detective nodded. “I know. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Mycroft agreed, putting on his determination like a suit of armour. He stood, grasping Greg's hand and the two men took their leave.

When the door clicked shut, John jerked his legs causing the detective to fall off them sideways.

“Hey!”

“I can't believe your parents don't know about me.”

Sherlock ran his hand through his curls then gave John an unusually serious and open look. “If you think it was shame or embarrassment, you're wrong.” He held up his hand to forestall whatever his lover might be about to say. “Yes, I see that my motives were selfish, I wanted to protect you from the inevitable conflict. I now see that it kept me from being as supportive of Mycroft as I wanted to be.”

“Supportive? Of Mycroft? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile. “We were a lot closer than anyone knows.”

“Obviously,” John imitated Sherlock's often dry tone. “Care to elaborate?”

“We were inseparable as children, despite the age difference. You can imagine the trouble we got into.”

“And what? Mycroft moved out?”

“He went to Oxford when he was 15. He felt guilty for leaving me with Mummy, but when he returned one summer and said he had a boyfriend… he moved out permanently. Did a 5 year course in 3 years as well as looked after me full time. Father popped in and took care of the rent, but I was basically brought up by my brother.”

John shook his head, puzzled. “Then why the cold war?”

“Guess who put me in rehab against my will?” Sherlock climbed back onto John's lap. “I'm glad, now, but you can imagine how it went. The resentment lingered.”

“I would say lingered was an understatement.”

Sherlock smiled sadly. “My own fault, I know. I suppose his overprotectiveness didn't help the situation,” the detective mused. “Having dedicated so much time to raising me, it has been hard for him to let go.” He looked at John. “I don't think he ever would have if it weren't for you.”

“He needs to know his baby brother is safe. That's not a crime, Babe.”

“I know,” Sherlock nodded and ran his hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes. “I know.” He got to his feet without another word and headed off to the bedroom.

John gave him a few minutes to collect himself, then followed. He stripped down to his pants and climbed into bed, wrapping his arm around his beloved. He didn't ask for more, just offered his presence.

Sherlock didn't move as he felt John wrap himself around him, just froze. Tomorrow wouldn't be easy.

\---

Sherlock jerked awake to the sound of banging coming from down the stairs. He rolled back into John, waking him up. “Mycroft's here.”

“Tell him to sod off,” John mumbled, wrapping himself around his consulting detective.

Sherlock wriggled free, much to the doctor's confusion. “Can't, John. We're to see Mummy today, remember?”

“Tomorrow, you said.”

“Yep, that's today.”

“No, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow never comes, John. Come on.”

John let himself be coaxed from the bed and shoved into the loo where he struggled through a shower. Upon emerging, he found Greg, the Holmes brothers and, best of all, a cup of hot, steaming, definitely caffeinated coffee.

“What did I do to deserve for you to make me coffee, Sherlock?”

“He didn't,” Mycroft intervened. “Gregory did.”

John chuckled. “I should have known.”

The detective pouted, though he stole a quick hug on the way to get his own shower. He wouldn't try for a kiss until he'd brushed his teeth.

“Sherlock, what exactly are you doing in there?!” Mycroft was banging on the bathroom door. “The quicker we leave the quicker we can get out of there.”

The detective walked out stark naked and dripping wet. He smirked at his brother, “You know how Mummy feels about cleanliness.” He reached a long arm back and snagged a towel. He disappeared into the bedroom drying his hair.

John and Greg smothered their laughter upon seeing the look of consternation on Mycroft's face.

The four of them sat in the back of the limo Mycroft had procured from somewhere and Sherlock sat tapping, his foot going up and down, up and down.

John took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “No matter what, this'll all be done at the end of the day, yeah?”

“That's exactly what I told Mycroft earlier.” Greg gave his fiancé's hand a similar squeeze. “Nothing that's said today will change how we feel about each other.”

“I wouldn't be too sure,” Sherlock mumbled with a glance at his brother. “It will go smoother if Father's home, but I don't know what days he works anymore.”

Mycroft let out a sigh. “Of course he'll be home. You may not keep up with such things, but I do.”

Not having his violin to screech, Sherlock settled for rolling his eyes. “You've been keeping tabs on them all this time?” The younger Holmes couldn't believe it.

“No, just on father.”

Sherlock couldn't bring himself to feel guilty for not checking on his father over the years. Yes, his father had got him out of a bad situation by sending him to live with Mycroft, but Sherlock felt the man should have done more for his brother.

“We don't need to do this, Mycroft,” Sherlock said suddenly.

All three turned to look at him.

“Mother won't understand. She never does. We can phone Father and talk to him that way.”

It was hard to tell who was more shocked, Greg or John. Sherlock was afraid of nothing, backed down from nothing and he sounded positively terrified.

Mycroft understood. His brother had never been the favourite child and the childhood memory of Mycroft's own coming out were decidedly unpleasant. “It's okay, 'Lock. Greg and I can do this on our own. You don't have to...”

“No! That's not going to happen.” Sherlock shook his head vehemently. “I just...” his shoulders slumped. “This won't be fun.”

John slid along the seat so he was pressed up against him. “Nothing either of them say is going to scare me off, Babe,” the doctor said with conviction.

The DI nodded and found Mycroft's hand again, squeezing it in his own. “Me too.”

That's when they arrived at their destination. There was a moment of frozen silence. John gave a 'Captain Watson' nod, said, “Right, then,” opened the door and climbed out of the car. The others followed.

Both Holmeses stopped at the front of the pathway, causing their respective boyfriends to turn and grab them by the hand tugging them up the garden path.

It was Greg who knocked and it was Mr. Holmes who answered, his eyes going a bit wide in surprise at the unexpected visit. As had been indicated the day before, Mr. Holmes was quite the hand at deduction himself. He recognised the fact that there were two couples standing at his door, not simply his sons and two random men. He smiled broadly, with genuine warmth. “Do come in, won't you?”

He held his hand out and John was the first to step forward to shake it, “John Watson.”

Greg did the same, but both brothers had paused again. Mr. Holmes glanced up, concerned. “Don't mind them, Mr. Holmes,” Greg interrupted any thoughts the older man could have been having. “They've been sulking for hours.”

The older man laughed. “I imagine they have.” The smile fell from his face. “I wish I could say past events hadn't given them reason.” Now his face went mock stern. “Boys, get up here and introduce these gentlemen properly.”

They shared glances and Sherlock nodded. “Dad, this is, John. My boyfriend.”

John stepped back and punched him on the arm. “That's not a bad thing, you git,” he said lightly.

The older Holmes smiled. He clearly had a strong relationship with this doctor which was most surprising. “Mycroft?” He questioned.

Mycroft, paler than usual, ushered Greg forward once more. “This is Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade of New Scotland Yard.” Here, the man who had brokered both peace and war, who, on more than one occasion, had ordered men to their deaths, hesitated. Mycroft looked at his fiancé and suddenly felt a fierce sense of pride. “He's also my fiancé.”

“Ah, Mycie, what happened to sentiment is a weakness?” Sherlock was being sarcastic, but his older brother appreciated it all the same.

Mr. Holmes opened his mouth a moment then closed it again. He took a step towards his eldest and held his hand out. “Well done, son.”

“He's what?!” Came a squawk from inside the house.

The two younger Holmeses flinched and took an involuntary step back.

Mr. Holmes turned and faced his wife, a stern look on his face. “He's engaged and all you are going to say is 'Congratulations.'“ Her mouth hung open. “Or, you could start with 'Hello.'“

Mummy Holmes snapped her mouth shut, pulled her gaze from her husband and smiled awkwardly. “Why, hello. Please come in.”

Sherlock grabbed his older brother's sleeve and shook his head. “I can't do this.” He tugged it back towards the limo. “And neither should you have to.”

“William!” Mrs. Holmes snapped, her tone was stern, much like it had been when they were children. The detective actually flinched.

Sherlock looked back at his mother and noted the wringing of her hands, the stern, but concerned look on her face and something else... perhaps the fear of rejection? Surely not.

Mrs. Holmes' tone softened. “It's not... I didn't mean... I was just surprised to see either of you, let alone both.” Her voice held a slight tremble.

Sherlock was far from ready to forgive her, but he was willing to stay for Mycroft, at least for a while.

“That's hardly our fault, mother,” Sherlock snarled.

“Oi!” John hissed, grabbing his collar and giving him a slight shake. The younger man dropped his head and sighed, then he slunk forward to rest his head on the doctors shoulder.

Mr. Holmes cleared his throat. “Let's move this into the living room, shall we?” He looked pointedly at his wife. “Perhaps tea would be in order?”

“I'll help,” Mycroft offered, he needed to be grown up about this, despite his reservations towards his mother. Even so, his tone was quieter than usual, cautious.

“No need,” his father clarified. “Violet can manage.”

Mr. Holmes didn't miss the gratified look Mycroft sent his way.

The five men took seats in the living room, the couples sitting close together. Mr. Holmes sat in a comfortable chair facing all of them. His expression was wistful. “Your mother's had years to think and I've done my best to nudge her thoughts in the right direction.”

“Clearly didn't work,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Hey,” John interrupted. “This isn't your dads fault.”

“I'm sorry, Dad,” he offered.

Mr. Holmes' eyebrows shot up. “Was that an apology son?”

The detective couldn't hide his slight smile.

“He does that now,” Mycroft put in.

Mr. Holmes smiled. “I know that's not down to you, Mycroft,” He turned slightly towards John. “It must be your doing.”

Violet entered the room carrying a tray with tea for them all. “Did I just hear Sherlock apologise?”

The detective gaped. “Did I just hear you call me Sherlock?”

“That is your name.”

Sherlock didn't respond to that, it would just start an argument, an argument was inevitable, this one could be avoided.

“Anyway, John, you've managed to turn Sherlock in to some resemblance of a human.”

“He was already most of the way there, he just needed a prod or two.”

“You're too modest,” the government official interjected.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in displeasure, causing John's own eyes to crinkle in amusement. He couldn't help himself, he dropped a quick kiss on the detective's cheek.

Even John felt the room tense and the bristling come from Mrs. Holmes. She went to speak and Mycroft stood up, breaking off any protest she may have had. She glanced at her youngest and saw him holding onto the doctor so tightly, you might think he expected him to disappear at any moment.

“This isn't right,” she said eventually.

Mr. Holmes spoke before anyone else could. “No, it's not right. Our sons shouldn't have to justify themselves to you and I won't let them try. If you can't see them for the good men they are, then you're blind.” He looked away from her in disgust. “I'm through letting you keep me from my sons.”

Her chin dropped again, she had never been spoken to like that before, let alone by her husband. “But them both…”

The pointed look he sent her way cut her off and she stood up, immediately making her way out the room.

Surprisingly, it was Greg who followed, much to Mycroft's protests, silent as they were.

Greg found Mrs. Holmes in the kitchen. She was leaning against the sink with her hands covering her face. He cleared his throat and she turned around, embarrassed. He didn't know how to start, so opened with, “You have two amazing sons, you know.”

She nodded once unsure how to proceed with this stranger that seemed to adore her eldest son, but then again, that was mutual, he clearly felt as good about the stranger as the stranger did about Mycroft.

Letting out a great sigh, she said, “Siger tells me that I'm an incredible idiot for someone of my IQ.”

“I tell Mycroft something similar when he's acting the idiot. John does the same with Sherlock.”

“Good,” she wiped away a burgeoning tear. “Someone needs to keep them, us, in line.”

“What is it you find so… wrong?” He struggled around the question, not knowing if he really wanted the answer.

“Men should be…” she cleared her throat. “Men should be friends. Not partners. How can you love another man in a way that's not a friend?”

“I would trust Mycroft in a way that I don't trust John or Sherlock. It's different for him, because he obviously has a lot of responsibility, given his job as well as Sherlock. I have female friends and they think nothing of it. I've been married in the past… to a women. She got everything when we split, including the kids, it was proof to me that that never worked out, but I wouldn't have missed it because if I had I would have missed Myc.”

Mrs. Holmes raised an eyebrow. “So she left you because you turned gay.” It was an assumption not a question.

Greg swallowed down his anger at that. “No, I left her because she fancied shagging the P.E. teacher. I was faithful to my vows. She wasn't. It was that simple.” He got a faraway look. “I wasn't looking for another relationship, didn't want one. I couldn't trust anymore. Your son changed that.”

“And you love him like you did your wife?”

Greg laughed outright. “God, no. The love I felt for her pales in comparison.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Greg shrugged. “Mycroft is a great person, that's why I asked him to marry me. My relationship with my wife ended because she had an affair, it had nothing to do with Myc. Sherlock is also a great guy, I know for a fact John couldn't live without him, but if you can't see that…” he trailed off and shrugged. He wasn't going to waste anymore of his time so he headed back towards where the 4 men were waiting in the sitting room.

Mycroft stood at Greg's approach and he shook his head slightly.

“I told you, Mycie! I told you!” Sherlock growled.

Mycroft shot his brother a look. “Okay, Sherlock. You don't have to gloat.” He turned to his father. “We'll be taking our leave now.”

Siger shook his head sadly. “I want to get to know these young men you two are so enamoured of.”

Greg managed to laugh at that. He hadn't been accused of being a young man in years.

“I'm done letting your mother dictate my actions.” Mr. Holmes looked determined. “I want to be a part of your lives again, if you'll let me.”

Sherlock nodded with a glance at the others. “221B Baker Street, if you want to come?”

Mr. Holmes nodded as did Mycroft. “I'll follow in the car.”

Once back in the car, Mycroft shook his head ruefully. “That went better than expected.”

Sherlock scoffed.

“Really, baby brother. We got a 50% approval rating. Many politicians would kill for that.”

“We already had a 50% approval rating. Mother had a point, what are the chances of both of us being gay?”

“Why does it matter?” Mycroft asked.

“You're right,” John agreed. “It doesn't.”

Sherlock stopped fidgeting, going very intense. “John, will you marry me?”

The doctor didn't hesitate in his reply. “No. Absolutely not.”

The silence in the car was thick and Sherlock looked as if he had been slapped.

“I won't marry you just because you're angry with your mother. I won't be a pawn in some family feud.” John cupped Sherlock's cheek. “Ask again when you can do it for the right reasons.”

Sherlock shrugged out of John's grip and grabbed the microphone through to the driver. “Stop the car.”

In a matter of seconds the limo pulled up, Sherlock grabbed his scarf from the seat next to him and climbed out, slamming the door shut in John's face.

John opened the door and started to follow, but Mycroft grabbed his arm and, in a calm voice, said, “Give him time to think. He'll come around.”

“I don't know.” The doctor shook his head. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“I said no. Your brother has just asked me to marry him and I said no.”

When Mr. Holmes pulled up behind the limo in Baker Street, he was more than surprised that only three men climbed out. Where was his other son? He knew they'd pulled over, but he hadn't seen Sherlock get out.

Greg snatched at John's arm, but missed. The doctor was off, chasing through London after Sherlock.

Mycroft, already on his mobile, told Anthea, “And while you're at it, have Doctor Watson tracked as well.”

“Mycroft?”

“Dad.”

“What's happening? Where's John going?”

Mycroft glanced up to see the doctor disappear around the corner.

“Shall we go in?” The government official pulled his keys from his pocket.

“You've got keys to your brothers apartment?”

“Mycroft has keys for everywhere.” Greg smiled, but it was sad.

The silver haired man explained the situation on the way to the flat to a much chagrined Mr. Holmes. As they entered, he uttered a surprising expletive. “Violet didn't even need to be there to cause trouble.”

Mycroft turned from just inside the door.

“What is it, Babe?” Greg asked, not at all shy in front of the older Holmes.

“Mrs. Hudson.”

The DI laughed. “Don't be mean.”

“Mrs. Hudson?” Siger asked.

“It's Sherlock's landlady, Dad, but she can be a bit-”

“Mycroft, Gregory and…”

The government official sighed and bowed to the inevitable. “Mrs. Hudson, this is my father, Siger Holmes and this,” he gestured towards her, is Sherlock's landlady, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh, Mycroft,” she brought her hand to her lips, “Nothing's happened to my boys, has it?”

“We don't know, Mrs. Hudson, you know what Sherlock's like. He's run off and John's gone after him.”

“Why don't you boys go upstairs and I'll bring up a pot?”

23 minutes later, Mycroft's mobile rang. “You have Sherlock?” All ears were tuned in to him. “Then pick up Doctor Watson. You know what to do.”

\---

After what seemed an eternity, the door to the “dungeon” cell that Sherlock was in opened. Through it, one very irritated ex-army doctor was pushed, then the door was pulled to with a heavy thud.

“Mycroft has the best places doesn't he?” John growled from the door.

Sherlock didn't even look up. He sat in one corner, leant back against the dank wall, his arms wrapped around his knees.

It was a long while before the detective spoke. “I'm assuming I upset my brother which is why I'm here. Question is, why are you?”

Sherlock had been found round the back of one of his old haunts, before he even had the chance to work out what was happening, 3 of Mycroft's minions had grabbed him, cuffed him and thrown him in the back of the police riot van they had on standby. He hadn't been taken to The Yard though. He had been taken to a building he didn't recognise, but was clearly one of Mycroft's secret dungeons where he tortured people like Moriarty for fun. He had vaguely wondered if that was about to happen and then was sure of it when his flatmate was thrown in too.

John gave the detective a half hearted smile. “So I can propose, perhaps?”

Sherlock huffed and somehow managed to turn around so that he was facing the corner.

“Look, I was a right arse. I get that. You would never propose, unless you meant it and I cocked it up.” John was pleading now and he didn't care. “Marry me?”

“No.”

“Please, marry me?” He was kneeling as close by Sherlock's side as he could get.

“No.”

John bowed his head, defeated.

Peering from the corner of his eyes, Sherlock said sulkily, “I asked first. You don't get to propose.”

“Right,” John answered cautiously, afraid to hope, but that was all he said and his head dropped again. He rested his hand on the detective's shoulder and Sherlock shrugged him off. “Did you go in the drug den?”

Sherlock merely blinked at him and John realised how well and truly he had cocked up, he'd hurt Sherlock on a deep level, but it wasn't just the declining of the proposal which had done it, but the reason he'd given - he should have known it was Sherlock's way of backing him up by proposing at that time, not to get back at his mother.

Sighing, the doctor backed away and sat in his own corner, the floor was damp and grimy, but he didn't care. John didn't normally dislike silence, but this he abhorred. Maybe if it was made clear that everything was over between him and Sherlock, Mycroft's minions would relent and let them go, let Sherlock go, he corrected himself. The doctor thought he might just end up at the bottom of the Thames before the day was over. There was nothing for it. “I'll move out, as soon as Mycroft let's us go.”

Sherlock looked over at him in surprise. Eyes wide and head tilted just so. He nodded once, “That won't be necessary.”

“No?” John was hopeful again.

“No, Baker Street isn't the only property Mrs. Hudson owns, I'll move into another one.”

John stood and strode to the door, banging on it with his fist. “Open this fucking door!” He hit it, kicked it and, in a moment of blind fury, punched it. “God damn.” He shook his fist, contemplating the likelihood of broken bones. “God fucking damn.” John sank to the floor, shoulders shaking.

\---

Mycroft rang off after getting an update from Anthea. “Sherlock's being stubborn.”

“What else is new?” came Greg's sardonic reply. “What now.”

Mycroft looked a bit frightening as he replied, “We wait.”

“We can't leave them indefinitely, Mycroft!” Greg snapped.

“Why can't we?”

\---

“Anthea!” Sherlock yelled when John had backed away from the door again. “I'll do what you want.” He glanced at John. “I know what it is, so just open up.”

It took nearly a minute, but there was a clang of the lock being forced open and his brother's PA appeared.

In a fit of blind fury, Sherlock shoved her out of the way, and charged through the building, he knew every street in London, he could get out of here easy enough. He heard John yell after him, but didn't care. He ran around the corner and was grabbed by two men. They forced him to his knees, whilst he kicked and struggled and they rammed his arms up his back. He was still struggling when another door opened and Greg appeared, but he wasn't with Mycroft, he was with his father.

“Mycroft's seeing to John, and you have got some explaining to do.”

Sherlock glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. He wriggled again and only ended up huffing when they squeezed their grip on his wrists.

“They're not going to let you go Sherlock, they aren't stupid. Now talk.”

“He didn't even come after me, Greg,” Sherlock growled. “If he had cared, Mycroft wouldn't have had to kidnap him.” He gave escape another try with the same results.

“Son,” it was the first time Mr. Holmes had spoken. “I heard what happened. John tried to follow you, but Mycroft stopped him. He thought you needed space to think.”

“Space to think,” Sherlock spat. “That's bollocks. Tell Mummy, she got what she wanted. I'm no longer happily in a relationship and my ex-boyfriend will no doubt be dead in a ditch come the end of the day.” His head fell between his shoulders, but he wasn't released, they didn't even loosen their grip. They weren't falling for it.

“Would that bother you, Sherlock?” Greg asked.

“Of course it would! I've known John a long time, but I can't go back to being just friends with him. He trusts me now about as much as Mummy does and look where that got me, living with my brother when he was still a child himself.”

The DI sighed and glanced at Mr. Holmes who inclined his head much like Mycroft did. “Cuff him.”

\---

“Calm down, John,” Mycroft urged. “Despite my reputation, your life is in no danger.” He smiled grimly. “Don't worry, we'll get through to Sherlock.”

“Right. Like anyone can get through to that stubborn git.”

“You can.”

John shook his head. “I used to be able to. Then I treated him like a heartless git.”

“The heartless git that he used to be, John.”

“That doesn't make what I said any better, Mycroft. And as for my life not being in any danger, why was I locked in this dank and dingy cell? And how do I know you're not going to find out what you want from me and lock the door again?”

“You've known me a number of years, John, I had assumed we had come to an understanding a long time ago. You weren't locked in here as punishment, it was my way of knocking your heads together.”

“Well that didn't work, did it?” The doctor snarled.

Mycroft shook his head. “Come on, come and see to my idiot of a brother. See if you can't talk some sense into him.”

“No. Just leave me here.”

The government official sighed heavily.

“Sherlock made it quite clear,” the doctor continued. “He doesn't want me around anymore and I can't say I blame him.”

On the other side of the building, Sherlock had been dragged into an official looking room and forced to his knees again, he was still being held, there was no way he'd be able to make a run for it, and the hit he had been so looking forward to before he had been intercepted seemed a long way off.

Never in his entire life, had Mycroft been forced to deal with two such complete idiots, both determined to play the martyr, yet equally in love. He snapped his fingers and two men stepped up to take John in hand.

“See,” the doctor yelled as he struggled fruitlessly, “You've called in your goons.”

Sighing, Mycroft turned and started towards where his brother was being held. Perhaps he and Greg could knock the two stubborn men's heads together until they came to their senses.

“Mycroft!” John yelled. “What the fuck?!” He growled as his wrists were cuffed together behind him and he was manhandled out of the door.

John was surprised to see Sherlock in a similar position to him when they entered a new room, but on the floor, his head was low and his shoulders were rounded. He didn't look up as John was dragged in, just stared at the floor. The doctor was embarrassed to see that Mr. Holmes was also in the room, he'd taken the seat behind the desk that was no doubt Mycroft's.

“How you getting on, Gregory?” Mycroft asked, nodding to his men to push John to the floor.

“Like you, apparently.”

Mycroft was about to say something when his father stood. “I've had enough of this. Sherlock!” The detective's head snapped up. “You're hurt, fine, but do you still love John?”

The youngest man in the room cocked head just enough to be able to see John from the corner of his eye. “Obviously.”

“Well, it's not to John, young man. Tell him.”

Sherlock sulled up, refusing to speak.

“At least tell him why you're afraid and don't try to tell me you're not.” Siger's voice remained stern.

“Because he doesn't love me!”

John broke away. “You idiot! I do love you. I'll always love you. Without you in my life... why did I even come back from Afghanistan? That bullet should have finished the job.” John swallowed awkwardly and looked away, he was not going to cry in front of 8 other men.

“Mycroft, uncuff him, let him go.” Sherlock's voice was soft.

“Not you?”

“No.”

Hands reached for John's cuffs, but he jerked away. “Him first.” He nodded towards Sherlock's kneeling form.

“No, John. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you.”

Greg threw his hands into the air. “For Christ's sake. Would you two just kiss and make up.”

“Fuck off, Lestrade!”

Mycroft stepped forward at that and grabbed Sherlock by the throat. “Now you listen Sherlock and you listen hard, when I let you go one of two things will happen, I'll stick you back in rehab for the drugs you were going to take tonight or you will kiss him and apologise for being such a moron.”

Sherlock averted his eyes, making Mycroft glare at the men holding him. They squeezed their fists around the cuffs holding his brother and Sherlock hissed through his teeth glancing at Mycroft. “Alright,” he spat.

“Alright, what?” Mycroft's fingers dug into Sherlock's throat. “You going to rehab or are you going to apologise? In fact I think we all deserve an apology not just John.”

“Sherlock-” John cut off at Mycroft's look.

“I'll apologise,” Sherlock spat in Mycroft's direction.

A gesture from the government official and the cuffs were released. Sherlock made a break for it. John threw himself at him, handcuffs and all, and ended up sitting on him. The detective could have got away, but something stopped him trying - it was the look in John's eyes. He had only seen that look once before, when a suspect had shot him and John had thought him dead. Sherlock didn't like that look.

“Sherlock Holmes,” John growled, low and dangerous, “If you choose your damned drugs or rehab over me, I'll know it was all a lie and it wasn't. It couldn't have been...” Bloody hell, but he was crying now. He had no dignity left to lose. “I've nothing without you. Don't leave me.” His last words came on a broken sob.

Sherlock didn't know what to do. John's words had been cruel and uncalled for, but he didn't deserve this. Not at all. He didn't want to choose drugs over John, but Mycroft had only given him two options.

“Rehab then,” Mycroft interrupted anything the youngest Holmes was about to say.

John wasn't the only one who gasped in shock. He was pulled off of the detective by two of Mycroft's minions and Sherlock was dragged to his feet.

“Myc-”

“Your choice, Sherlock.” He nodded and he was manhandled to the door. The rest of the room watched him go and John didn't have the dignity left to call after him.

What John definitely did not expect was two muffled yelps from the other side of the door, then said door swinging open and Sherlock charging in. The next thing the doctor knew, he had one very erratic detective on his knees in front of him and his arms wrapped around his waist, “I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He was sobbing uncontrollably into his jumper.

Mycroft went to the door to find out what had happened to find his men out cold on the floor. He smiled.

The blond looked down at him. “Marry me?”

Sherlock blinked away tears, then gave a shaky smile, but he shook his head which was not expected.

“Daft git,” John said fondly as someone uncuffed him. He ignored the shake and pulled Sherlock to his feet. He kissed him, wrapping his arms around the younger man tightly, content on never letting him go.

Mycroft decided to forego forcing the group-wide apology, but then Sherlock spoke again and he contemplated changing his mind. “I meant no, John.”

The detective fell to his knees again, wrapping his hands around John's legs once more.

“Oi! We can move on now and you definitely did not say no.”

Sherlock shifted, tucking one leg beneath him and sitting up on his other foot. He slipped his hand in to his pocket and pulled a small box free. He slipped it open and held it up to him.

“You really weren't doing it to spite your mother…” John swallowed the lump around his throat, feeling guilty once more. “I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. We're idiots. We can never do things the easy way, can we?”

“Make it easy now, say yes,” Sherlock urged.

“Yes. Absolutely, emphatically, and unequivocally, yes.”

They beamed at each other and John collapsed to his knees to embrace Sherlock once more.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Greg interrupted and dropped two caring hands on their heads and ruffled. “Can we go back to Baker Street now?”

“Depends,” Sherlock said as he stood with John.

“On?”

“Whether Mycroft is going to try to stick me in rehab again.”

“Go,” he said with a pointed look at the door. “I'll follow on with Dad.”

When it was just Mycroft and Mr. Holmes, Siger looked at his son sympathetically. “I didn't give you an easy job, did I son? And it hasn't got any easier now that he's grown.”

Mycroft gave a grunt. “Ironically, he has got easier to handle, thanks to John.” He shook his head. “The good doctor's normally a much more level headed influence.”

“Where passion runs hot, nothing is easy,” the older man observed.

“True. Too true.”

“I have to admit though, Mycroft, you've done a brilliant job with him.”

Mycroft smiled. He appreciated the compliment for what it was.

Sherlock would not let go of John's hand in the car and Greg kept trying to hide his smirk. Unsuccessfully.

“Sherlock, he isn't going anywhere.”

The detective actually poked his tongue out at the older man and John laughed.

“God, you are such a child.”

Inevitably, Mrs. Hudson was there to greet them when they arrived at the flat. She had herself well and truly worked up and admonished them for worrying everyone, then she made an enormous fuss over her boys. After she had bustled about a bit and settled everyone in with tea and biscuits, she commented on Sherlock's smug look. That, if possible, only made him look even more smug.

John laughed at his fiancé, who was puffed up like a peacock, and told him, “Go ahead, Love. You'll positively burst if you don't.”

He shook his head, reminding John of a child again. “I can't.”

“Why not?”

“Need to pee.”

Sherlock stood up and charged to the loo. John laughed. “He asked me to marry him.”

Fortunately, Greg was standing close enough to catch Mrs. Hudson, who was overcome with joy. He eased her into what normally served as John's chair. She looked around, “Needs to pee, indeed.” Her voice got incredibly louder, “We'll be having words, young man,” but there was a smile in her voice.

Sherlock's head poked out of the bathroom door a few moments later. “John?”

“What is it, Love?”

“Is it all over?”

With that Mrs. Hudson got back to her feet and ran to Sherlock. The detective had never seen the older woman run in his life, so didn't get a chance to close the bathroom door. Before he knew what had happened, he'd been grabbed by his insane landlady.

“Oh, you wonderful boy.”

Had it been anyone else, well, anyone but John, Sherlock would not have stood for it, but this was Mrs. Hudson, a woman to whom he was unaccountably attached. “I picked a good one,” he told her just before pecking her on the cheek.

“He's the only one who will put up with your nonsense, you mean.”

Sherlock grinned in a way Mrs. Hudson had never seen before. “Oh, Sherlock I'm so proud of you,” she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down. He groaned in response.

“You're not the only one, Mrs. H,” Mycroft said as he pushed open the door.

“Hmph, I'm proud of both my sons, but I have just one question?” Both Mycroft and Sherlock turned to face him, looking slightly apprehensive. “Will it be a double wedding?”

Sherlock shook his head and then ran to John, climbing onto his lap.

“What did the nasty man do, Babe?” The doctor asked sarcastically.

“Asking me questions.” He pouted.

John laughed. “What sort of questions?”

“Does it matter?” Sherlock rolled his eyes in an even more dramatic fashion than normal. “It was an evil, nasty question. Fetch your SIG.”

“Mr. Holmes?” The doctor called. He looked over, mild surprise on his face. John began tickling the detective until he was giggling uncontrollably. “You can ask your question again, if you like. You might get a better answer now.”

Siger looked a bit confused, but amused nonetheless. “I simply asked if it would be a double wedding?”

John and Greg locked eyes and then burst out laughing uncontrollably.

“God, John,” the DI gasped, “We should make them say yes just for the fun of it!”

Shaking his head, the doctor replied, “The nightmare of it, you mean.”

They both shared discreet nods and then pounced on their respective partners. Sherlock was pretty much already beneath the doctor, but Greg had a tougher job.

Mycroft was stood by the door. Greg took him by the hand and led him over to the other sofa, then pulled him down to his lap. Somehow, somewhen, Mycroft ended up beneath the DI, one arm pinned up his back in the classic police manoeuvre.

One glance at John found he'd done exactly the same to his Holmes.

“Mr. Holmes, once more?”

“I think the boys know my question by now.” Mr. Holmes smiled fondly at the four men.

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock answered, which earned the detective a brutal tickling and the British Government the same.

“Fine!” Sherlock conceded.

Mycroft held out a moment more, then finally acquiesced. “Alright. I surrender.”

“Do you though?” Greg whispered, leaning down and biting on his ear. Mycroft struggled for a moment, but the younger man didn't relent.

“Oh, come on, Gregory.”

“Don't get sarcastic with me, Mycie.”

The British Government, pinned down as he was, could only sigh and this time he well and truly gave in. “We can have a double wedding, if you want.”

Greg grinned and was therefore caught off guard when Mycroft spun, managing to grab the collar of his lover's shirt and smash their lips together.

Sherlock hadn't been quite so lucky in his attempts. He had only succeeded in rolling them around on the floor, but that wasn't all bad. John's arms were around him in an effort to hold onto him, and Sherlock always counted John's arms being around him as a win.

“And you?” John asked. “Is it really okay?”

The detective rolled his eyes. “Even under duress, I would never have said it if I hadn't meant it.” That statement earned Sherlock a thorough snogging, one that made Mrs. Hudson blush and run out of the room claiming alcohol was needed. Mr. Holmes was not far behind.

The Holmeses watched their father join Mrs. Hudson with fond smiles. Those smiles faltered however when their mother appeared in the doorway. The look on her face was nothing short of disdainful at the look of four fully grown men rolling around the floor like children. Even Mycroft.

The room went silent so suddenly that Siger and Mrs. Hudson were drawn back into the living room. The landlady instantly bristled at the intruder's obvious disdain, but being polite, she said nothing, leaving her boys to handle whatever was to come.

Mycroft and John released their lover's and both brothers jumped to their feet, Sherlock casually shook his jacket out but Mycroft had more of a job with his 3 piece suit that was now covered in Sherlock's most recent experiment. He sent his brother a scowl, but rather then a glare he got an apologetic look.

Mr. Holmes walked up to his wife and looked her in the eyes. “You're just in time to hear the good news. It's going to be a double wedding.”

Violet blinked as she processed that information.

Siger continued, “Unless you want to miss the weddings and the rest of your sons' lives, think very carefully before you speak.”

She looked at each man in turn, including her husband, but didn't open her mouth. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't even smile.

It was Sherlock who spoke first. “Mummy, I have to admit something to you.” He paused a moment and John sensed his apprehension, he reached for his hand. “I've been gay since I was 17. Because of what you did to Mycroft, I never mentioned it. I didn't feel the need, now think very carefully, when was the last time we had a conversation?”

“You were 16.”

“Precisely. Who's fault is that? It's not mine, it's not Mycroft's and it's not dad's. I'm not going to pass up this opportunity to spend time with him because you think it's a disgrace that I'm gay. I love John, probably more than you love Dad, how can that be wrong? You made me choose. Choose between you and my brother. Don't make me again because you know which way I will go.” He felt John's squeeze around his hand and glanced at his brother in time to see him blink away the tears that had been welling up.

Mrs. Holmes took a deep breath. “May I come to the wedding... weddings?” She was very subdued.

Greg gave Mycroft a small nod. John did likewise to Sherlock. The brothers exchanged looks. At the detective's nod, Mycroft stepped forward. “Yes, it seems you may.”

“Why are you so cold towards me, Mycroft? If your little brother can become a family man, you can.”

Sherlock took a protective step towards his brother. “You know why,” he spat.

Mr. Holmes shook his head. “I think it was time you were off, Love, before we unravel everything we've achieved.”

“But...” Violet was cut off by her husband's finger to her lips.

Mr. Holmes gently took her by the arm and turned her towards the door. He looked back at his sons. “We'll be in touch.” With that, he urged his wife through the door and away from 221B.


	2. A Case of Nerves

Sherlock woke with a case of wedding day jitters. He couldn't sit still and had nearly paced a hole in the floor. “John,” he snapped, “How can you be so calm?”

John was sat in his chair flicking through the paper. “Because the wedding is tomorrow.” He glanced up at his detective who was cutting his pacing ridiculously short by going over the coffee table rather than around it. “Oh, Babe… Babe, stop!” He cut him from his pacing by snagging his hand as he went past. He pulled Sherlock down onto his lap. “This is what we were always meant to do. How can I not be calm when this feels so right? We are meant to be together, Sherlock. Forever, marrying you is just proving that to each other, it's not something to freak out over.”

Sherlock shook his head stubbornly. “You don't have someone like Mummy to deal with.”

“I'll be there too, remember? And I won't let her ruin our special day.”

The detective let out a huff and pouted. John kissed the pout away, feeling him slowly relax in his arms.

“She's only coming because Dad is making her.”

“She is coming because she knows she will regret it if she doesn't.”

Sherlock jumped off his lap. 

“Where are you going, 'Lock?”

“Phone Myc,” was all he said. 

John sighed and pulled out his own phone to call Greg. When the DI answered, John dove straight in, “Mine's panicking. How about yours?”

Greg barked a harsh laugh. “He's pacing like mad. You would think he's related to Sherlock. Is it time to put our plan into action?”

“Yeah, if we don't, they might not live to see tomorrow. We'll end up killing them to save our sanity.”

“I'll get mine and meet you there.”

“Sure.” John rang off and went in search of his Holmes. 

He caught his fiancé's conversation in his old bedroom and couldn't help but listen in. 

“I can't do this, Mycie.”

John's heart jumped into his throat, was he about to call all this off?

Mycroft must have replied because he spoke again. “But she'll be there. She'll ruin it.”

John pushed the door open, reached out and plucked the phone from Sherlock's hand. “I'll take care of this, Mycroft. I suspect Greg is looking for you. Go see what he wants.” With a thumb press, he rang off and handed the detective back his phone. “Now get this straight in your genius mind, we are not eloping and we are not letting your mother ruin anything. If she tries, my old army mates will whisk her away. Right. So put on something casual. Greg and Mycroft will be here to pick us up shortly. And when I say casual, I don't mean posh trousers and a dress shirt.”

“Boring,” he grumbled. 

“You're boring,” he responded with a smirk. “Now get dressed or do I have to do it for you?”

Well, there was an offer the detective couldn't turn down. 

“Oh, alright. C'mere, you.” John beckoned his fiancé closer. Sliding Sherlock's dressing gown from his shoulders, he gave him a quick kiss. “But we can't take long. They'll be here soon.”

“Don't care.”

“Well, I do.” The doctor pulled Sherlock's T-shirt over his head, making his curls stick out in random directions.

“I love your hair when it does that.”

“It makes me feel like a child. Or a dog.”

“Well, you are a child. Mine.” He picked him up and dropped him onto his old bed. Tapping Sherlock's thigh, he ordered, “Up.” As soon as his fiancé lifted his bum off of the mattress, John pulled his pyjama bottoms and pants off in one go. The doctor sighed dramatically. “It's a shame to have to cover all of this back up so soon.” He reached up a hand and wrapped it around the flaccid cock in front of him. He leant over, kissed the head and then began fighting the detective's feet into fresh pants. 

Sherlock glared at John. “That's not fair!”

John smirked. “Life's not fair, Love. We're on a time limit, remember?” It suddenly became much more difficult to dress the detective as he began squirming, trying to get the pants back off.

“Oi!” He smacked Sherlock's hip. “You really are being my little bugger. Now keep still or I won't fuck you until after the wedding.”

“That's a baseless threat. You couldn't keep your hands off of me that long.” Sherlock looked particularly smug.

“What, less than 48 hours? I believe I can meet that challenge, Mr. Holmes.”

The detective realised his mistake. “Wait! I didn't mean it like that!”

“Just think how much better it will be tomorrow if we avoid it until then?”

Sherlock didn't look convinced. 

“Ok, I'll put it another way. You should learn when to keep that cute little mouth of yours shut.”

Not saying a word, Sherlock lifted his hand and pointed at his mouth which was closed tightly. 

“Good boy. But I still think if we wait until after we're married like we are supposed to, it will be so much better.”

“But John! We've fucked practically every day since we've been together.”

“Then going one night without won't kill you.”

“It might.” Sherlock crossed his arms across his chest petulantly.

John kissed him on the cheek. “No. It won't.” The doctor stood and tossed the pants that Sherlock had wriggled out of onto his chest. “You can even get dressed on your own.”

For some reason tears sprang to his eyes. “No, John!” He didn't know what had happened, he was just suddenly very emotional. “Please.”

The doctor stopped in his tracks and turned to face his fiancé. Sherlock had actual tears in his eyes. “Oh, Love.” He sat back down on the bed. “C'mere.” Taking the detective in his arms, he smoothed down the errant curls. “It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay.”

Sherlock stayed where he was wrapped around his doctor. 

“What is it, Babe?” John asked.

“I don't know,” he sobbed. 

“Alrighty, then.” John held him tighter. “Is it the sex thing?”

Sherlock hesitated, then shook his head.

“Is it me leaving you to get dressed alone?”

After another moment's hesitation, Sherlock nodded, his cheeks going flaming red.

John took a deep breath. “Ok, try to calm down. You know I was teasing, yeah?”

This time, Sherlock's nod was immediate.

“Good. I'll hold you for a bit and when you feel better, I'll help you.” The doctor didn't rush Sherlock, just held him like he had promised.

When Sherlock had calmed down, he pushed John away from him, in a state of obvious embarrassment. He stood up and turned away. 

“Sherlock, it really is alright.”

“No. It's not. I don't cry John. Especially for no reason.”

“You have reason, Love,” the doctor countered. “You've been under a lot of stress and before you say anything, it's a different type of stress than you're used to. This involves emotions.”

Sherlock walked out of the room and John chased after him. He caught up outside their bedroom. The doctor stopped him and pushed him back into the wall to kiss him. 

“No John,” he pushed him back. “You don't understand!”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. “And that's my brother and I'm not even dressed and…” He raised his voice. “Piss off, Mycroft!”

“Hello to you too, brother dear,” Mycroft greeted as he stepped into the living room. “And I would be all too happy to 'piss off', but Gregory insisted we come.”

Greg walked around his fiancé and smiled at John, completely unphased by either Sherlock's nudity or Mycroft's rudeness. “They're right balls of sunshine today, aren't they?”

“Just piss off and leave me alone!” Sherlock snarled. He slammed the bedroom door shut behind him and the other three heard the lock click. 

“Sherlock!” John barked. 

“Allow me,” Mycroft pushed his way between the other two and pulled an identical lock picking kit to Sherlock's from his inside pocket. When Mycroft pushed the door open, it was to find his brother face down on the bed. Even as he stepped into the room, Sherlock grabbed a pillow and covered, not his bare arse, but his head. Mycroft had been on edge all morning, no doubt straining Greg's patience, but he hadn't been as bad as this. He let out a sighed. “Oh, baby brother.”

“Go away,” he moaned. 

“I was expecting this tomorrow. Not today.”

“I don't know what's wrong with me, Mycie, I just randomly started crying. I know one thing though. I don't want Mummy there.”

“If she tries anything, Anthea will march her out of the building, 'Lock.”

That got a bitter laugh from Sherlock. “She'll have to fight John's army mates for the privilege.”

“Then what's the problem? She's got two groups to get through before she can do anything to interrupt tomorrow.” 

“Because I don't want a mother there who is just going to be resentful. Father is supportive. He is all we need.”

Mycroft sighed. Why was he fighting so hard to have Mummy there when he didn't want her there himself? “Maybe you're right. Maybe it would be better if she doesn't come.”

“Really?” Sherlock sounded hopeful. 

“Well, how about a compromise. Gregory has insisted on both our attention today. For a few hours at least. What if we ring Dad and see if he's willing to come over and discuss it tonight?”

Sherlock bit his lip. He wouldn't have to agree to anything later, so agreeing to the compromise wouldn't hurt. “That... sounds good.”

“John's worried about you, 'Lock,” Mycroft glanced back towards the door where the doctor was standing.

Sherlock's gaze followed his brother's. He held out his hand towards his fiancé and John came to him.

The doctor sat on the bed next to the detective and smacked the pale bum in front of him. “Mycroft's right, you know, you've had me worried, you git.”

Sherlock sat up and wrapped himself around his fiancé. “I didn't mean to worry you.”

“You never do, Love, not even when you hare off after some criminal.” John gave the detective's shoulders a squeeze.

“I don't know what happened. I was… fine and then I wasn't and then I couldn't stop thinking of all the ways Mummy could ruin tomorrow and then Mycroft was here…”

“And now I'm here.” John kissed him and petted his hair for a bit. “Now, would you get dressed? Greg got quite the eyeful and I'm a jealous man.”

That surprised a laugh out of the detective. “Let him look, John. Only you get to touch.”

“Oh, but Sherlock you're forgetting something,” Mycroft interrupted. 

The younger Holmes frowned up at his brother. 

“I changed your bum when you were a baby, remember?”

The blush that rose up Sherlock's cheeks was gorgeous. 

John looked towards the door and caught Greg's eye. They nodded at each other, glad that they had made their contingency plan to get the brother's together. The Holmses were already relaxing a bit. They were amazed at how different things were now, before, bringing them together would just have caused carnage, but now, it had the complete opposite effect. 

Sherlock poked his tongue out. “No, I don't remember, as you have already said I was a baby.”

Mycroft perched himself on the side of the bed. “You were a cute ickle baby too. You could barely see your head, you had too much hair.”

Sherlock started to swat at his brother, but John caught his wrist. “None of that, Love.” He kissed Sherlock's palm. “Um, Mycroft. Would you mind?”

“What's that, John?” the British Government asked.

Greg took his fiancé's hand and pulled him up and towards the door. “I really think John would like to help Sherlock get dressed. Maybe have a few moments alone.”

“Aww, does my ickle baby brother need help getting dressed? Do you put the wrong feet into your panties? Can you not tie your laces on your own?”

Sherlock grabbed a pillow and tossed it at his brother causing the British Government to duck and flee, laughing.

“Does ickle Sherlock not like his big brother's teasing?” John said through his grin. 

The detective growled, grabbed the doctor and spun them over so the older man was on the bottom. 

“Sherlock,” John growled in warning.

The detective ignored him and began sucking on his throat.

From the doorway, Mycroft gave a mock shudder. “Really, Sherlock?” He pulled the door shut, separating himself and Gregory from the couple on the bed.

Sherlock tried to scramble to his feet to chase after him, but John snagged his ankle, and he had to brace himself on his hands otherwise he would have face planted. The doctor began pulling Sherlock back onto the bed by the leg. The detective protested by kicking his other leg, but John snatched it as well. “You said no sex!”

“Yes, and I meant it. But, by God, you will not go chasing after your brother naked as the day you were born! What would Mrs. Hudson say?”

“She wouldn't say anything, just sneak a peek and titter.”

John shifted his position and grabbed his detective's cock. The younger man yelped and John ordered, “Get on the bed and I will let you go.”

Sherlock let out a sigh as if he were much put upon and climbed gingerly onto the bed. He heaved another sigh this time of relief when John released his cock.

“There, that wasn't too difficult, was it now?”

Sherlock looked away and John went about trying to find him something decent but casual to wear. He picked out Sherlock's better pair of jeans, which fit him as ridiculously well as his bespoke trousers, and the tattered hoodie. Tossing them both at his detective, he had to laugh at the look of distaste on his face. “Grow up and put them on,” John said, laughing.

“Growing up means stopping wearing this sort of thing and wearing suits instead.”

“If you want to have an argument about suits I'll go back out and get your brother.”

Sherlock, glaring, jerked the hoodie over his head, then stalked over and got a pair of pants from his drawer and shook them in John's direction. “You don't play fair, Doctor Watson.”

“And you do, Sherlock? Really?”

The doctor opened the door to let Mycroft and Greg know they were finally ready.

Greg tossed John his coat and held out the Belstaff for Sherlock to take. The detective was still pouting, but, once his coat was on, he condescended to let John wrap his arm around him and guide him from the flat.

Sherlock was rather surprised that Mycroft stood by the back of the jaguar and held the door open for the others, including him before he climbed in himself. “Has Greg been teaching you some manners, brother -mine?”

Mycroft sniffed. “I've always had manners, you've simply never bothered to notice.”

Sherlock crossed his arms across his chest. “Where are we going that I couldn't dress decently?”

“Where are we going that neither of us can simply deduce it?”

Sherlock's brow furrowed for a moment. “That is a very good point.”

Mycroft didn't comment on the compliment as back-handed as it was. 

Both brothers looked their fiancé's up and down once, twice, three times and then looked at one another, both shaking their heads.

Mycroft let out a dramatic sigh. “You two must be the only people in the entire universe that have the power to halt our deductions in their tracks.”

“That's quite the compliment,” Greg noted as he placed his hand on Mycroft's knee. He got a wicked grin and returned to the previous subject. “It's not so much that you can't dress nicely where we're going. It's more that you should be comfortable.”

“Turn the car around, Myc,” Sherlock demanded.

“Why, baby brother?”

“Because I know where we're going and we'll both hate it.”

“Hang on. How have you worked it out before me?”

“Youth, brother dear, you are approaching old age.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and was about to come back with a sharp retort, but Greg chose that moment to kiss him. “You, Myc, are not old. You are perfectly seasoned.”

Sherlock made an indelicate sound.

“Oi!” John growled, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him onto his lap. “There's a far bigger gap between youth and old age than 7 years, 'Lock.”

Sherlock huffed. “John, he was born old!”

“At least I'm not a perpetual toddler, brother-mine.”

Shaking his head, Greg commented, “Maybe getting them together wasn't the best idea after all.”

“I would rather be a toddler than a grandad.”

“Why?” John asked. “They're practically the same thing? They poop, shout and eat a lot.”

Sherlock laughed. 

The car came to a stop outside a sports club.

“You can't be serious,” Sherlock groused.

“Loathe as I am to agree with my baby brother, you two can't be serious about this.”

Mycroft's threatening look wasn't getting him anywhere and when he tried to tell the driver to turn around it was to see that it was Anthea, something else he had failed to deduce. 

“It's either do as we say or we'll lock you both in the gym,” Greg ordered. 

“For heaven's sake, Sherlock, get out of the car.” Mycroft was gesturing towards the car door. “The only sweaty male body I want to be around is Greg's.”

“You would be the only one sweating brother-mine. I think you'll find I'm fit as anything.”

“I'm sorry, Mycroft, but I have to agree with him. Despite not eating or sleeping unless I actually force him, he is incredibly fit.” John was grinning broadly.

“That's information you could have kept to yourself.” Greg shoved John between the shoulders.

“Oi! Watch it. I have loads more I can share.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. How about that time we were at the pub and Greg-” he was cut off by Greg wrapping a hand around his mouth, wrenching his right arm up his back and shoving him into the wall. 

Rather than helping Sherlock just burst out laughing. John never, ever, lost a fight of physical prowess. 

“Greg Lestrade,” John growled. “Don't make me make a widower out of Mycroft before the marriage even takes place.”

Sherlock called out, “You'd best listen to him, Greg. He may be a doctor, but I hear he had bad days in the army.”

“Oh, and how did you hear that?” The DI called over his shoulder. 

“Oh, I um… punched him in the face a few years ago so he hit me back. Then got me in a headlock.”

“Why did you hit him, Sherlock?”

“It was your fault, Myc!” Sherlock countered. “It was for the Irene Adler case.”

Whilst Greg had been distracted by the brothers' mock argument, John had fought his way free and had him on the floor, his knee in his back and his own arm twisted up behind him. 

Mycroft and Sherlock watched calmly as the two men continued scuffling. “Did I ever apologise for that, 'Lock? I mean properly.”

“Why would you have?”

Greg almost managed to throw John.

“Because it led to... Well, you know.”

“Myc, we both know Moriarty was already playing the game at that point.”

“Still, I am sorry. For everything.”

A copper walked up, ready to break up the 'fight'.

By this point Greg was back on top, he routed his hand around for his warrant card. As the officer placed a hand on his shoulder, he waved it in his face. 

“Oh, sorry, Sir, sorry.”

“Unruly prisoner, don't mind us.”

“Do you need a hand, Sir?”

“No, not at all. I'll be fine.”

John hadn't commented at all, face down into the concrete as he was but as soon as the officer had walked off, he burst out in a fit of giggles and Greg finally let him up.

“I may have to start carrying one of those.” John gestured towards where the DI had put his warrant card away. “I'm sure Sherlock will loan me one of yours, Greg.”

“Oh, yes,” Greg looked at the detective, “How many have you got now Sherlock?”

“A lot. I think I might even have one in my pocket.” 

Sherlock slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans to find them empty. 

Mycroft waved it in his younger brother's face. “The art of pick pocketing cannot be complete unless you know when you yourself are being pick pocketed, little bro.” Mycroft tossed the card to his fiancé, then gestured towards the club. “Shall we?”

Brushing past his brother, Sherlock entered and walked up to the kid manning the desk. “I believe my friends and I are on your schedule. Under the name John...” He paused and look thoughtfully over his shoulder and back. “No, Greg Lestrade.”

“I'm not even going to ask how you know that,” John groaned. 

The kid took a moment, tapping at a keyboard before pointed to the left. “Through those double doors and on your right.”

Sherlock stood and stared at the doors like he was about to face the headman's axe.

John wrapped his arm around his waist. “I don't know what you're so worried about, Love.”

“It's a massage.” The detective said the last word like it was poisonous.

John didn't even question how his fiancé had deduced why they were here. “You went to Buckingham Palace in a sheet. A massage should be a breeze.”

“I've also travelled halfway across the world to defeat a man who was already dead, that doesn't mean I can stay still for an hour and a half.”

“Sherlock,” John said seriously, “I've seen you lay on that horrid sofa for hours on end without twitching a muscle. You can do this. And you'll enjoy it.”

“I have a purpose when I'm on the sofa.”

“What's that?”

“Being still.”

John couldn't stop himself. His arm left Sherlock's waist and he clocked him on the back of the head. Mycroft's eyes widened in surprise and then he and Greg burst out laughing. But John wasn't done, he reached up and snagged his ear between his fingers, he brought his head down so he could whisper into his ear. “You will behave for the entirety of the day, otherwise the no sex will self-expand until after the honeymoon. Which I believe will be with Greg and Mycroft. You will be able to deduce every single day how many times they were at it the night before.”

Sherlock fired off, “Two times last night. Three the night before. Nothing for two days before that.”

“That. Was amazing, but not exactly good behaviour, Love.”

Sherlock pouted, glaring at Mycroft. “It's your fault I have to be 'good'.”

His brother pushed passed him. “It was three times last night actually, baby brother.”

Greg grinned at the detective. “As you like to say, there's always something, innit?”

Wheeling about, Sherlock went to leave.

John pushed one of the doors open and called after Sherlock, “No sex on the honeymoon if you go!” Without looking to see if Sherlock followed, he walked through the doors towards the massage room.

Sherlock watched as his brother and Greg wandered a little slower after the doctor. For a moment he stood, seriously weighing up whether or not it was worth it. He decided to compromise and went outside to the smoking shelter to light a cigarette. 

John sighed as a thought occurred to him when he realised four had become three. He felt like a complete arse. He hadn't thought about Sherlock's scars. Greg and Mycroft seeing them was one thing, but was it possible that his fiancé was skittish about a stranger seeing them? He pinched the bridge of his nose and did an about turn, going in search of his detective. 

Mycroft went after him. “John, is this about…” he trailed off not being able to put it into words. 

“I think so.”

“He's not just being an arse for no reason then.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose, yet again. “Not this time, no.”

“Myc, let John handle this,” Greg advised as he placed a hand on his fiancé's arm. “I know you want to help, but...”

The government official's shoulders slumped. “But I can't, can I? Not with this.”

John looked up at him for a moment. “I don't know, actually. You might.”

Outside Sherlock had given up smoking halfway through his cigarette and had decided to go for a walk instead. He was getting married tomorrow, the only thing he wanted to be anxious about was that, not his mother ruining it and not some stuck up health graduate laughing at him. He stopped in his tracks, however when he heard Mycroft's distinctive step approaching, though it was a bit faster than his normal stride. He didn't even feel like saying 'piss off'. It just wasn't worth the effort.

Mycroft stopped by his brother's side and looked into the distance. “Did you laugh?”

“What?”

“When you first saw John's shoulder. Did you laugh?”

“Of course not. I love him.”

“If you hadn't loved him, would you have laughed?”

Sherlock kind of wished he hadn't stubbed out his cigarette. 

“I don't know. I wouldn't have seen it if I hadn't have loved him.”

“No one with half a brain would laugh, baby brother. Your scars are a badge of courage and survival.”

“And how many people that have half a brain bother to use them, Mycroft?” His brother didn't say anything. “Right, then.” Mycroft reached towards his brother as if to touch his arm, but stopped himself. He didn't know how to make this right.

“You know, I knew this wedding was too good to be true. You've always said if something felt like it, it usually was. Just look at the trouble we went through when I proposed. Is this you, John and Greg getting me back for all the times I was a twat to you? I mean, you have plenty to choose from I could list them if you like?”

Mycroft, in an uncharacteristic show of restlessness, paced forward, then back to stand facing his brother. “We're not trying to punish you for anything.” He sighed. “People like Gregory and John... ceremonies mean something to them. They need public shows and to make grand declarations of undying love, whereas you and I are simply content to know these things. You know that.”

“That's tomorrow. What's all this about?” He waved pointlessly at the gym behind them. 

“Why don't you quit feeling sorry for yourself?” Mycroft said scathingly. “It's not becoming and it's keeping you from thinking clearly. The men we love, the men that love us, wanted to provide a pleasant distraction for the day. Now John's back there,” he pointed towards the club, “torturing himself for a fool. What are you going to do about it?”

“Why don't you piss off, Mycroft?” Sherlock snarled. 

Mycroft hadn't seen attitude like this from his little brother in a long time. Every hill they had got over together seemed to be unravelling as they reversed. 

“And take your stupid insults with you.”

Mycroft had had enough. He stepped forward and, quick as a flash, spun Sherlock around and pinned his arms behind him. “Is this what it takes to get through to you?” He gave him a shake. “I thought you cared about John, but obviously I was wrong. You're still just a selfish brat at heart.” He gave Sherlock a shove and let him go. “I'll tell John you've changed your mind about everything.” With that, he walked off, leaving a very conflicted consulting detective in his wake.

“Do you know what Mycroft?! I thought we were getting somewhere as brothers, forgiving each other, moving on, now who's the fucking selfish bastard?! Tell him what you want.” He turned and as soon as he was out of sight, sank to the ground, his arms immediately wrapping around his knees. 

Mycroft found John waiting anxiously just inside the front door of the club. The doctor was pacing, his limp having made a full return and his left hand was shaking.

“Where's Sherlock?” John asked immediately.

“John, I...” Mycroft looked genuinely distressed. “I only made things worse. It was like we had gone back five years or more. I told him... I said I'd tell you everything was called off.”

The doctor went pale. “Did he say that?”

“I told him I was going to. I called him selfish. Said he was being a brat. Said a lot of things this time five years ago would have been normal for me to say. He wouldn't come in so I said that I would tell it was called off. It didn't have the response I was hoping for, he didn't follow, he just yelled at me then told me to tell you whatever I wanted.”

John's hand clenched into a fist. He wanted, needed to punch someone and Mycroft was close to hand. He swung, but diverted the direction of his punch at the last moment to hit the wall. Swearing and shaking his fist in pain, he ran out the door and down the pathway in search of his fiancé.

Greg stood up from the sofa he'd collapsed into. “You went out there looking for a fight with your brother, didn't you?”

“No!” Mycroft argued. “I… was trying to help, he was being so unreasonable.”

“He's Sherlock! Of course he's being unreasonable!”

“I know. Sherlock says he's no good at relationships, but I'm the one that keeps failing.” He looked at Greg with a grave expression. “Do you know what they call me, my associates? They call me the Iceman. You don't want to marry me, Gregory. I'll fail you too.”

“Your associates? You mean the people against you, like Moriarty? Of course they're going to say things like that. If you honestly don't want to marry me tomorrow, walk out that door. Your choice. It was me who asked.”

Greg held his breath when Mycroft glanced at the outside world, he turned, took, a step towards him and wrapped him in big bear arms.

“Oh, thank God!” Greg returned the hug with interest. “If you had walked out that door...”

“I could never do that, Gregory. I'm too selfish to give you up, even though it would be the kindest thing to do.”

Greg pulled back. “Rubbish. Is it kind what Sherlock is putting John through?”

“Of course not. I only hope John can talk some sense into him.”

“He will, you'll see.”

John found Sherlock sat practically in a puddle. 

“Hey,” he offered, trying to hide his limp. “What you up to?”

“Thinking,” he replied softly. 

“About?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don't know.”

John sat down at Sherlock's side, opposite the puddle. “Then I'll have a think too. It will be an inferior think, but...” He shrugged. “I don't have your great mind.”

Sherlock didn't respond, that was the most worrying thing to John so far; a clear invitation to throw mindless insults and yet he hadn't. 

“Have you finished thinking yet?” John asked. 

Sherlock grunted, but didn't answer the question. John reached out and took his hand in his own and held it. “Alright. Think as much and as long as you like, so long as you reach the right conclusion.”

“I suppose you're about to tell me what that is?”

“Well, you haven't pulled your hand from mine, so that speaks volumes.”

“They can't see me, John, Mycroft has, Greg has but they can't. They just can't.”

John felt like laughing hysterically in relief, this still wasn't about the wedding, but he knew the subject was a painful one. He had his own scars to live with, after all. “I didn't think and I should have. Can you forgive me?”

Sherlock took a moment and then looked up at the doctor, his eyes were red rimmed. “You didn't do it on purpose? To embarrass me?”

John's heart nearly broke and he wanted to hurt every single person who had ever treated Sherlock cruelly. “You know me better than that. I'm not some heartless kid and I'm not Victor. If you really believed that I was, you wouldn't be marrying me. At least, I hope not.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment and nodded once. “I shouted at Myc. I shouldn't have done.”

“I think he understands. He's not the complete ass he used to be.” John gave his fiancé a hesitant smile.

“He has his moments.”

“And so do you, Love.” They sat in silence a bit longer. “What do you want to do?”

“They're not seeing me. I don't mind waiting. Even though it will be boring. Mycroft said you'd planned this day to distract us. I hadn't meant to ruin it.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” John squeezed his hand tighter. “You haven't ruined anything. We'll wait together and plan ways to disrupt Greg and Mycroft's honeymoon or something, yeah? We can even play deduce the pedestrians if you like.”

Sherlock smiled. He liked that game. “But you were really looking forward to it.”

“Well, yeah. I thought it might be a relaxing way to kill some time.” He shrugged. “But spending the day with you is what it was really about. It's fine.”

“You could still get a massage. I could sit and watch - deduce the masseuse.” He actually managed a grin at that and offered John a hand up.

“Or… I could do it to you… I'm sure Mycroft's influence would get rid of one without question. Greg and Mycroft can carry on and we could do our own thing.”

Sherlock finally, finally relaxed and a true smile found its way onto his face. “You would do that for me?”

“I've killed for you. I'd die for you. I think I can see my way clear to give you a massage.” John gave Sherlock his lopsided smile. 

Suddenly Sherlock moved for the first time since John had come outside. In fact, he did more than move, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his blogger. “You're mine,” he growled in his ear. 

“You git. Don't tell me you just figured that out,” John teased. “What with you being a genius and all.”

“But you're too good for me, John Watson. You always fix things somehow.”

“I did a great job of fixing things this morning - making you feel like... well…” He looked down and away from his fiancé.

Sherlock reached up to cup John's cheek. “Don't, just don't,” he admonished and kissed him.

“Now then,” John patted his hands down onto Sherlock's knees as he stood. 

“Is your limp back?” He asked. 

“What? No, of course not.”

“Don't lie to me, John, it doesn't work and you know it.”

“Alright, yes. But I was so worried about you not wanting to marry me… I'm fine though.” He leant down and picked Sherlock up in strong arms. “See?”

Once he had been set down, the detective caught John's left hand in his own. It still fluttered lightly from the doctor's subsiding anxiety. “I'm sorry,” Sherlock said, then brought the hand to his lips to kiss. Even as he did it, he felt the last of the tremors fade away.

“I told you. It's fine.”

Sherlock looked over his shoulder towards the club. “I made a fool of myself and I said hurtful things to Mycroft. I'm afraid to talk to him.”

“You always used to say hurtful things to him, but he also said similar things to you. It never used to bother you.”

“But I care now.”

Sherlock noticed he was grinning. “That's my point. You'll sort it with him. I'm not cancelling my wedding because you're in a paddy with your brother.”

John tugged on Sherlock's hand and they made their way back to the club. The detective hesitated in the doorway, clearly not wanting to go any further. 

Mycroft, who had been looking the other way, noticed Greg's eyes shift towards the entrance. The government official turned and faced his brother across the distance. It was as if the air had solidified and he couldn't move, he just stared at Sherlock who stared back.

John tried tugging him in, but had no luck, so he resorted to walking back outside and shoving the wet detective through the doors by force. 

Sherlock stumbled and managed to come to a halt in front of his brother. Each Holmes was determined that the other should make the first move. For once, not out of stubborn pride, but because they both felt they had been in the wrong and didn't deserve to make the first move.

Neither of them did, however, and after an awkward few minutes of silence, their boyfriends nodded from behind them and shoved them into each other. Rather than pulling away and rushing out of the room, they latched onto each other. Arms holding on tight. 

They broke apart after long moments. Sherlock took a deep breath, then told his brother, “Sorry, Myc.”

“I'm sorry too, 'Lock. I shouldn't have said those things.”

“No. I should have listened.”

Greg interrupted them. “Let's not start arguing over who was in the wrong.”

“Um… I would rather swim than have a massage,” Mycroft admitted. “And I know Gregory brought my trunks.”

Sherlock grinned. “We can do what we did when we were kids.”

John glanced at Greg. He was willing for their plan to go sideways if it meant the brothers were calm and getting along. 

“Ok. But if you're stressed tonight, Sherlock, I will tie you to the sofa and massage you myself.”

John glanced over at the front desk, eyeing the club's scant offerings when it came to clothing merchandise. They had T-shirts, gym shorts, and, yes, swim trunks for sale with the club logo on. “You're swimming too, Sherlock. You can wear a T-shirt.”

The detective smirked. “Try and stop me,” he raced to the desk and pointed. “That one.”

John watched him, eyes boggling. 

Mycroft stepped up next to him and rested his hand on his shoulder. 

“I used to take him swimming when he was little. It was the only time we were away from Mummy until I moved out. Dad always used to drive us and watch from the seats.”

John sighed with relief. Maybe this day could really be salvaged, not just patched over. He walked over to the desk and stood next to his fiancé. “Pink trunks, Sherlock? You're going to wear pink?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Of course not, John. Those are for you.

Mycroft laughed, looking at his brother's fiancé. “You wanted today to go well, John.”

The doctor nodded in defeat, “I guess you're right.”

“I don't know what you're laughing at Mr. British Government,” Greg pushed his hand into the rucksack he had had on his back and pulled out a matching pair of pink trunks.

Mycroft sighed. “What is this penchant people have for putting gingers in pink,” he complained, but he snatched the trunks from his fiancé's hand. “Well, lead the way to the changing room.”

Greg obliged, not even trying to suppress his mirth as he went. He was managing to succeed until Mycroft caught him up and whipped his ass with his shorts. Greg burst out laughing even as he rubbed his stinging bum. “You'll pay for that on the honeymoon, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Promises, promises,” Mycroft said slyly.

“Ewww,” Sherlock complained catching them up.

“You have no idea what I plan to do to you on our honeymoon Sherlock,” John said. “So I wouldn't complain.”

“But their room is going to be next to ours. We'll hear everything.”

“So will they.”

“Yes, but it is fine hearing your younger brother, but hearing your older brother? That's just creepy.” 

A twenty-something man stopped in his tracks on his way out and glared at them.

Sherlock snarled at him. “Problem?”

“'Lock it's fine,” Mycroft cut him off. 

“No. It's not.” He went back to looking at the 'kid', “problem?” He repeated. 

“You're gay?”

“Yes. And?”

“Which one's your shag buddy then?”

“Why does it matter?” 

“It can't be this one, too butch for you,” he glared at John. “And that one too old,” this was at Greg. “Is it this one? He is the protective one after all.”

Before either of the men could stop him Sherlock had swung a punch. It was so hard, that the other man went flying backwards into the lockers. “No, you pervert, that's my brother. Oh, and the British Government, when he can be bothered.”

The man shook his head and stumbled to his feet. “I'll kill you, you pouf.”

Greg already had his warrant card out and was waving it in the man's face. “Would you care to rethink your last statement?”

“You're clearly not on duty.” With that he lunged straight for Sherlock. Like being not on duty made a blind bit of difference to a copper. 

The detective had been looking to his brother and hadn't seen the lunge coming. 

They both piled to the floor, but it didn't take long for Sherlock to get the upper hand. He clocked the guy beneath the chin again even as the retaliation hit between his legs. Sherlock doubled over, growling. He fell to the side, trying to get a clear breath. 

That was when both Mycroft and John stepped in. Mycroft's quick order to phone for a van wasn't needed as Greg was already on the phone. 

John had his foot on the guy’s bollocks and Mycroft had already got his own hit in. When John knew the older man had it cover he went to check on Sherlock. 

The Yard arrived in record time and sorted everything out, taking the young man away. The fact that Sherlock had thrown the first punch couldn't be verified by any witnesses and would never see the light of day. The club's management apologised for the unfortunate incident and everything was smoothed over.

John hesitatingly suggested that they leave, thinking that Sherlock wouldn't feel comfortable there any longer. He should have known better.

“Ridiculous, John.” Sherlock grinned. “Despite the unfortunate blow I took, the whole thing was rather invigorating. I think I worked off some of my anxiety from earlier in the day.” He actually stopped the nearest member of staff. “We'll be using the pool for free, then the Jacuzzi, then we'll have our massages. And it will cost nothing.”

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

The staff member ran off to clear it and Sherlock turned to John. “I am on fire!”

The doctor grasped Sherlock's shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss. When they broke apart, John went up on tiptoe and whispered in his fiancé's ear. “If it hurts too badly, I'll kiss your boo-boo better tonight.”

“So despite what's just happened you're going to tease me to death tonight knowing nothing will happen until tomorrow.”

“Yup.”

“That's cruel. I'm certain you could find a job working for Mycroft. You'd be an excellent torturer.”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Information extractor.”

Sherlock barked a laugh and pushed his brother into one of the cubicles. He grabbed John's hand and pulled him into another. 

Inside the cubicle, Sherlock quickly cornered John. He leant in, his arms caging the doctor, and bent his head to kiss him. 

“What happened to you back then?” John asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I've never seen you like that before.”

“I protect who I'm close to.”

“He was being a dick to you too.”

“So?”

“Well, he was more of a dick to you.”

“Yes, he was. I should think he rather regrets that. Now, kiss me again, Doctor Watson. I find I am in desperate need of your proximity.”

“Oh, how romantic.” John rolled his eyes in a fair imitation of Sherlock. “But. No. Get changed.” He shoved the shorts he had bought when Sherlock had just abandoned them at the counter into his chest. 

Sherlock glared at the trunks, but he looked up and his face transformed into one of complete enrapture as John began stripping. The detective leaned against the wall in the small cubicle and simply enjoyed the view.

John clipped him on the back of the head. “Changed, Sherlock. Now.”

“You're sucking the joy out of this moment, John,” Sherlock complained, but he started turging off the hoodie.

The doctor, now clothed only in swimming trunks, grinned and leant against the wall. “Au contraire, I find this moment to be quite enjoyable.” He waved a hand at Sherlock. “Go on.”

Determined to make it as uninteresting as possible Sherlock stripped as fast as he could and exchanged his pants for his trunks, then slipped into his t-shirt. 

“Spoil sport.”

Sherlock sniffed and did his best to sweep imperiously from the small cubicle.

Mycroft and Greg were stood arms folded, trying to hide their laughter, having heard everything over the top. 

“John, mate, how do you put up with him?”

The doctor grinned. “With great enthusiasm.” He shrugged. “He keeps me from getting bored, anyway.”

Sherlock wasn't sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

Either way he turned off in a strop and marched through the doors and into the pool. 

John shrugged and followed Sherlock, albeit at a more casual pace. The pool was empty, luckily. He was just in time to see his fiancé mount the diving board. Fluid as a dancer, Sherlock dove, splitting the water and leaving only the barest of ripples in his wake. It was breath-taking. 

“I'm definitely not going to try that,” John said with a frown. “I'd look like a beached whale finding water again.”

Greg patted him on the back. “You can't be that bad, mate.”

“You're not going to get the chance to find out.” So saying, he stalked to the diving board and performed a cannon ball, making the largest splash he could. 

Greg laughed, grabbed Mycroft by the hand and pulled him in the direction of the board as well. 

“Oh, no, no, Gregory.”

“Lighten up.” He pulled him onto the board and dragged him over the edge.”

Mycroft came up spluttering and shook his head to clear the water from his eyes. Greg was right there, grinning at him. The DI dodged sideways in the water, breaking into long strokes and swimming away. Mycroft ducked under the water and gave chase, eventually catching his fiancé by the ankle and pulling him under.

Whilst the others were mucking around Sherlock grabbed John by the hand, he watched their fingers tangled together under water. 

“Let's hide.”

John looked around the large pool in confusion. “I don't have gills and there's nowhere to hide except underwater.”

Sherlock grinned. “Wrong.”

Checking his brother was still distracted trying to drown his near-husband, Sherlock encouraged John to the steps, clambered up and raced to the lifeguards little cupboard, out of sight. Of course, John followed. 

The doctor glanced around the corner of the little cupboard. “Why are we hiding?”

“So I can do this.” Sherlock grabbed a handful of John's arse.

John was about to make an indignant yelp when Sherlock pressed his finger to his lips, whispering, “Shh.”

In return the shorter man stood up on his toes and pressed his lips to Sherlock's. 

That was when the door swung open and a lifeguard cleared his throat.

Sherlock let out a frustrated moan and dropped his forehead to rest against John's. “This is a cruel world, John.”

Blushing, the doctor apologised to the lifeguard, “Sorry, really, sorry.”

The lifeguard grinned, gave them a wink and closed the door. A beat passed, then the two men burst out into giggles.

When they finally emerged it was to find Mycroft leaning back against the wall. 

“Did you enjoy the little visit, little brother?”

Sherlock gave him a cheeky grin and a wink. “Yes, brother dear, I did. Immensely.”

Mycroft's eyebrow shot up. “He's still holding out, though. Until the honeymoon?”

The detective's 'Piss off' was cheery as he pulled John along by the hand. 

The doctor was so busy looking over his shoulder that he didn't notice Sherlock's slight incline in his direction, so when he landed in the pool, it was to coughing and spluttering and a very amused detective. 

The four of them spent the better part of an hour in such antics before John suggested it might be time for their massages.

Greg readily agreed, so the Holmes brothers acquiesced. They got out of the pool and dried off, not bothering to change into their clothes, and made their way to the massage room.

They had already blocked each area off so only the heads could see around to talk to one another. It had also seemed that Mycroft had made arrangements for Sherlock. They weren't the arrangements the detective had expected. Whereas there were three massage tables for the others, there was a mechanical massage chair for Sherlock. It was a high end model and delivered deep heat as well as performing massaging action.

Sherlock looked at his brother. “Mycroft?”

“Anthea had it delivered while we were swimming,” Mycroft offered in explanation.

Sherlock continued to stare at his brother for a minute. Then he wrapped his arms around him. 

“Thanks, Myc.”

“No thanks are necessary, 'Lock.”

Three masseuses entered the room and the moment broke before it could get heavier.

“This is going to feel so good,” Greg pronounced, just to say something. “I haven't had a decent massage in ages.”

It turned out that Sherlock wasn't the only one who could pout. “I'm hurt, Gregory,” Mycroft declared. 

The DI clambered onto his table and got comfy. Mycroft copied, but John stayed beside Sherlock. He glanced over at the waiting masseuse, then back to his fiancé. “You really don't mind?”

Sherlock dropped a kiss on the tip of John's nose. “It's fine. Occasionally, even Mycroft has a good idea.”

John laughed. “Or as my mum used to say, even a blind squirrel eventually finds a nut.”


	3. They Do, All of Them

Sherlock's foot would not stop tapping where he sat. John tried to reach over and rest his hand on his knee, but the younger man moved away. 

Mycroft was watching him from the kitchen doorway, his own nerves had improved, his brother's, it would seem, had gotten worse. Not made better by the fact their father was on his way to collect them.

In a last ditch effort, John leant over and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. He moved in and kissed the bobbing knee into submission. It wouldn't last. The only thing that would truly calm the detective's nerves was the unfolding of the previous night's plans. As for himself, John thought the whole thing would be rather amusing. It was too bad his fiancé couldn't see that.

At the knock on the door, Sherlock actually moved, he charged at said door, swung it wide open and grabbed his father in a bone crushing hug.

Siger smiled and returned the hug. “I'm glad to see you too.” He looked over his youngest's shoulder at the other three men gathered there. “And all of you, Mycroft, John, Greg. Sherlock, Son, you can let go now. I'd like to take a proper breath, if it's all the same to you.”

Sherlock's head just shook on the older man's shoulder. “No, Dad, no.”

Mr. Holmes raised his eyebrows at the doctor who merely shrugged in response, Sherlock hadn't been like that in a very long time. 

Greg gave his fiancé a questioning look. “Are we pressed for time?”

“No, not really.” Mycroft looked at him oddly. “Why do you ask?”

The DI gave him a wink. “Because it's cold outside and, if I'm going out, I need something to warm me up.”

“Tea,” John offered.

“No, hot cocoa, I should think.” Greg grinned. 

Sherlock didn't let go of his father, but turned his head to glare at the DI. “I'm not a child.”

“You're the youngest here,” the DI argued. 

Sherlock just frowned. 

“You can let go of me whenever you like, you know, Son.”

The detective released him reluctantly and threw himself down by John. “I'm still not a child.” A beat passed. “But I'll have that hot cocoa now.”

“Would you like a bib, Love?” John asked, then he ducked away from the pillow that was aimed at his head.

“Coffee for me, Gregory,” Siger called. 

“Long night, Father?” Mycroft asked as he sank into the seat opposite them. 

“Long conversation. Well, it started off as a conversation, ended up an argument. I haven't been awake at 3am since you were a baby.”

“Yes, as I annoyingly recall, Sherlock was a 3am feeder.” Mycroft shook his head and gave a mock shudder. “Just imagine, Greg, little Lockie ate or drank his weight every morning at 3 after screaming the house awake.”

The detective was doing an impressive job of scowling. 

“I would quit why you are ahead, Mycroft,” Siger said, defending his youngest. 

“Why? It was bloody damn right depressing.”

“Because you used to wake us at 11, 3 and 6 and not go back to sleep until 9:30.”

Greg burst out laughing as he pointed at his fiancé from the kitchen. Sherlock just looked smug.

John was helping with the cocoa by this point and called out, “Who wants marshmallows?” Everyone grinned. Sherlock hadn't even know they had marshmallows. 

“Oh, and did I forget to add, that it was 9:30pm?” Siger asked.

Now Mycroft was scowling. “No way was I worse than my little brother.” Though he was frowning, it was for his brother's benefit. Their father's gentle ribbing seemed to be relaxing Sherlock somewhat. Although that hadn't been his plan. This whole sleeping thing was completely new to him. Mycroft had had no idea his penchant for late nights went back so far. Now, he found his bed to be a much more enticing place with Greg in it.

“I can see exactly what you're thinking,” Greg whispered as he placed a nice hot mug in his fiancé's hands.

“No you can't,” Mycroft countered, “that's a Holmes trait.”

“Not when it comes to love - or you,” the DI shot back.

“Has this got alcohol in it?” The older man asked.

“Nope.” Greg took a sip and smiled. “When you say yes, today, you will be completely sober. There will be no loopholes for you, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft rested his head on Greg's shoulder. “Never,” he whispered. 

Over on the other chair the younger Holmes brother's leg was vibrating once again. 

John let out a fond sigh. “Finish your cocoa, Love. Then we might as well leave. You can be nervous in the car as well as you can here. Besides, I'm anxious for you to meet Bill, who you will be nice to since he'll be helping Anthea keep an eye on your mother.”

Sherlock stood, dumping the mug on the table. 

“Where are you...” John began, but the bedroom door slammed shut.

“I'll go,” Greg offered. 

John looked at the rapidly cooling puddle of cocoa and thought. And thought. He was about ready to give up on the whole day.

Abruptly, the bedroom door flew open before Greg could get there and Sherlock crossed the room to stand in front of John with a small wrapped box in his hand. The detective looked at his father nervously and Mycroft looked on, a sudden expression of understanding on his face. Sherlock thrust the box into John's hands. “I had planned to wait until after the wedding, but... Open it.”

John fumbled at the paper, feeling nervous with so many eyes watching him. When he opened the box, he found a beautiful antique pocket watch in perfect working order. He looked up into his fiancé's eyes. “It's beautiful.”

Sherlock swallowed. “It was my grandfather's.”

Mycroft pulled his hand from the inside pocket of his suit, he handed the DI a similar box with a raised eyebrow.

“I don't…” he trailed off, peering at the watch inside. 

“We had two grandfathers.”

Greg and John kissed their respective fiancé. After that rather enjoyable task was done, the two men exchanged glances. They understood the problematic nature of presenting their gifts at this time. If John gave Sherlock his, they'd never get him away from the microscope and to the actual wedding. If Greg gave Mycroft his, well, that would be more than a bit embarrassing for everyone involved.

“We forgot about wedding day traditions,” Greg and John said simultaneously. 

The Holmes brothers shared a glance and then looked to their father who was staring out the window.

“Dad?” They asked, also together. 

“Give me a moment,” he turned and headed towards the door. 

The doctor moved to see what had made him leave. Sherlock and Mycroft didn't have to. It was obvious. Mummy. 

Mrs. Hudson's voice could be heard from downstairs as she intercepted Mrs. Holmes. Her words were unclear, but she sounded anything but cordial. Siger went down the stairs quickly and relieved her of the burden of talking to his wife.

As Mrs. Hudson entered the flat, she muttered under her breath, “Dreadful woman.”

Both brothers were frozen on their separate chairs until Sherlock suddenly sprang to his feet, ran to the front window, swung it open and went out it. The detective landed on the well placed car his father had driven to 221. He bounded off of it and onto the pathway, running, arms pumping. He didn't get very far before running headlong into Anthea.

The dark haired woman looked up from her phone. “I see Mr. Holmes won't be very happy with me.”

“No, neither will my brother.”

Anthea opened her mouth and then closed it again. 

Sherlock was suddenly surrounded by men with guns. He dropped his head and raised his hands. 

His parents came out of 221 first, then his brother. The elder Holmes saw what lengths Mycroft had gone to in order to control his little brother and keep him on the right path. 

“Did you really think I'd let you get away on the happiest day of your life?” Mycroft asked. 

Sherlock's gaze just flickered to their mother. 

Anthea had regained her composure. She walked over and took the woman in question by the arm. “Mrs. Holmes, I value my job. You will behave for the remainder of the day.”

“Mycroft,” Mrs. Holmes barked, “have your secretary release me at once.”

Mycroft inclined his head in Anthea's direction and, rather than releasing the woman, she guided her to a waiting sedan and forced her as gently as she could into the back seat.

“Don't worry, baby brother, Anthea will explain everything to Mummy very clearly.” Mycroft waved for the men surrounding his brother to stand down.

Sherlock's hands fell down to his pockets and he slumped back against the wall. “We want her there Myc, of course we do, this conversation just goes around and around in circles, but I don't… I just…” he sighed. 

Mycroft joined him where he was leant. “You are guaranteed not to see her again until the ceremony. And after letting her step inside Baker Street, Anthea will be doubly motivated to keep her in line. She may just sedate her if Mummy tries anything.”

“What if she just wanted to come and say hi?” Sherlock asked.

Siger was walking towards them along with Greg and John. 

“Believe me, Son, that wasn't what she wanted to say.”

Sherlock scowled, “Then what did she have to say?”

“Not on your wedding day, Son. If she doesn't behave, she doesn't get to come. So, let's not let her spoil the festivities.”

While Siger had been talking, John had moved around to Sherlock's free side. He wriggled an arm behind the detective's back and urged him away from the wall.

“I need a cigarette,” the detective declared. He looked to his brother for support to see he was getting the same treatment from the DI. 

John rolled his eyes. “Can our first kiss as a married couple please not taste like stale cigarettes?” As an act of desperation he licked his lips seductively.

“Of course,” Sherlock agreed, still looking at Mycroft. 

“I can sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“Not a ‘but’. A ‘because’. I will brush my teeth.”

Mycroft laughed, but the others didn't seem as impressed. 

“It'll be in your hair,” John groused.

“I'll shower.”

“There's no shower there.”

“I'll wash in the loo sink.”

John finally chuckled. “You are mad as a hatter.”

“So I can have one?”

“Can we?” Mycroft asked like a toddler wanting to go to the park. 

That just made Greg laugh. He and the doctor shared a glance and a nod and suddenly both Holmes brothers were being scooped up, as well as being watched fondly by their father. 

The brothers were deposited in the very large car that had been driven by Mr. Holmes, but provided by Mycroft. Greg and John slid into the car with their fiancés.

“Go ahead and smoke in the car,” John suggested, “we might as well all smell.”

Sherlock pouted. “You obviously don't want us to.”

“You're right, we don't. This is meant to be the best day of your life, not the most stressful. You haven't needed a fag in weeks.”

“What will make this the best day of my life is when it's all over,” Sherlock declared. “Then I can have the best night of my life with my husband.” 

Greg rolled his eyes. “Spare us, please.”

“Alright boys, calm down,” Mr. Holmes called through from the front. The brothers folded their arms, poking their tongues out at him. 

John's hand made its way to Sherlock's leg where it began kneading his muscles absently. The doctor happened to glance out the window as they passed by Angelo's and he smiled. He supposed the man had been right about them all those years ago, after all. They should have listened to him.

Not wasting any further time, the four men approached the registrar. He reached out a hand, shaking with everyone, but ending with John. “I’ll try to be professional about this in a moment, but I have to say I’m a huge fan.” The detective puffed up at this. “I check your blog every day, Doctor Watson. Wouldn’t want to miss one of your wonderful posts.” Sherlock’s disappointment was moderated by his pleasure at hearing his John being praised. “Oh, and you too, of course,” Mr. Holmes.

Everyone present stifled a laugh, even Mycroft.

“But on to business.” The registrar brushed his hands together, then began the double ceremony. He briefly described what a marriage should be - a commitment, a partnership.

When he came to the part where it was traditionally asked if any person had an objection, Mycroft spoke up, “I believe we can dispense with this part of the ceremony, yes?” He looked around, his eyes as cold as steel.

The registrar blinked, Mrs. Hudson tittered and Greg elbowed the government official in the ribs. Bill Murray, John's army buddy, gave the older woman a warning look as Anthea leant in and said something in Mrs. Holmes’ ear. The moment passed.

“Oh, right. To carry on then.” The registrar asked John and Sherlock to hold hands. He spoke a few more words as to the solemnity of matrimony, then led them in an exchange of vows and rings.

John had put a lot of thought into their rings. Rings that were too thin would slice into skin if caught on protrusions and, though Sherlock had wanted titanium, the doctor had ruled that out. If one of them were injured on a case and it resulted in a swollen finger, well, the rings could be cut off at A&E, but what if they were kidnapped or stranded beyond timely help? He wouldn’t risk either of them losing a finger that way, so their rings were simple gold.

When the registrar told them to kiss, Sherlock flushed a lovely shade of pink as John took his face in his hands. The doctor kissed him thoroughly, not caring that their family and friends were watching. It made Sherlock’s knees go a bit weak and John laughingly slid an arm around him to steady him.

As before, the registrar spoke a few words, then led Mycroft and Greg in an exchange of vows and rings. Their rings were wide bands made of a rose-tinted gold. On the outside, they appeared rather plain, but on the inside, were two very different inscriptions. The ring Greg placed on Mycroft’s finger read ‘My Promise’. The ring Mycroft placed on his finger in return read ‘I Choose You’.

When the registrar told them to kiss, they came together in a kiss that was just this side of appropriate for public consumption. It even got a catcall from John. After that, they signed the registry along with Mycroft and Greg.

Sherlock frowned. “Seeing as my best man is my brother and my brother's best man is me, who's going to be doing the whole talking thing?”

“I don't know why you're asking us, Sherlock,” John said with a grin. “Greg's my best man and I'm his.”

Greg grinned, a mischievous look on his face. He could tell Sherlock was nervous. “It should clearly be the youngest amongst us who does the talking. My grey matter is far too atrophied to give a proper speech. A certain consulting detective has remarked on that point often enough.”

Mycroft smiled. “You're the DI of New Scotland Yard, the talking thing is supposed to be your niche.”

“Oi, Myc!” Greg growled. “You're supposed to be on my side.”

Mycroft wrapped his arm around his husband. “But I like to watch you talk.”

Before Greg could formulate a reply, Mrs. Hudson grabbed John by the arm and slipped something in his pocket. “You've forgot your speech, dear. You'll be needing it.”

The doctor glanced at the older woman. “Why do I have to do the talking?”

She grinned slyly. “It's always you, John dear.”

“Excellent!” Sherlock rubbed his hands together. “I want to hear how wonderful and amazing I am.”

“Arrogant git,” John said lovingly. “But I knew that from day one. Sherlock Holmes, consulting ego.”

“Oh, come on, you can't say from the day you met me that this hasn't been one massive adrenaline rush…”

“From the first rooftop to this wedding day,” John agreed, stealing a kiss from the detective, his husband.

Before either of the grooms could stand, Mr. Holmes did. “I can see the dilemma of these four boys and believe it should be up to me to step in.”

“Sir?” Greg asked respectfully. 

Siger looked around at the four grooms/best men. “I'll be making the speech.” He held up his hand forestall their objections. “Please. It's the least I can do and it would mean a lot to me.”

The four of them shared glances. “It would be an honour, father,” Mycroft agreed. 

However, as soon as Siger opened his mouth Mrs. Holmes stood up.

Anthea twisted the older woman's arm behind her back and whispered something into her ear. Bill stood as well. His face was dark and he glowered at Mrs. Holmes daring her to speak.

“Am I not allowed to talk to my sons on their wedding day?”

Both brothers had tensed when they saw their father be interrupted. Mycroft glanced at the youngest Holmes; he was staring at the floor and biting his lip. “Remove her,” he ordered Anthea. 

Bill followed as backup to Anthea, though he felt completely unnecessary. The PA had things well in hand.

When the trio disappeared from the room, Sherlock visibly relaxed. John rubbing small circles on his husband's helped dramatically.

“I apologise for the slight interruption,” Siger offered the rest of the guests. He glanced at his boys. “Now these four… I only have interesting, embarrassing stories about two of them, I'm afraid.”

Sherlock and Mycroft groaned in unison. Their husbands settled in to listen, not pitying them in the least.

“I'm not quite certain where to start. With Sherlock turning 13 year old, Mycroft's eyebrows pink, perhaps? With them climbing on top of the house and playing pirates for three hours before we found them? Or the time when we went to the zoo and Sherlock pretended to be a meerkat somehow getting into the enclosure and squealing occasionally.”

“He kind of looks like a meerkat,” Greg noted.

John shook his head in disagreement. “Nope. An otter, definitely.”

“Oh no, boys,” Siger countered. “It was Mycroft who got into the otter enclosure and that was before little 'Lock came along. Now what about Sherlock's sixth birthday.”

Sherlock actually stood at that. “Dad, no!”

Mycroft was already laughing, in public no less.

“Have you ever seen a 6 year old with cake decorations pushed up his nose? It's all fun and games unless the plastic bee actually gets stuck. We had to take him to A&E to have it removed.” Siger gave a chuckle.

“But Sherlock wouldn't let anyone near him, either biting or kicking them,” Mycroft continued. “It eventually came out when he sneezed and buzzed at the same time.”

Sherlock didn't care who was watching, he stuck his tongue out at his brother. 

Siger got serious. “But little boys grow into men. It happens all too fast, and sometimes the growing pains don't stop just because you've reached your full height.” He was looking not only at Sherlock, but at Mycroft. “Young men make mistakes, some of which are more obvious than others. They lose touch with what matters the most. As a parent, it's difficult to watch, but I am one of the lucky ones. Both of my sons have found themselves and become good men.” His tone lightened. “And to make it even better, they've found themselves good men.” 

The moment fell extremely silent, but not awkwardly so. Mycroft and Sherlock were watching the other one whilst their father watched them both. 

“And most importantly,” Siger finished. “They found each other.”


	4. Honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have really earned some fluff and they are going to get it.

John started to head into the back room where they had got dressed before the ceremony. Sherlock grabbed him by the arm, asking, “Where are you going?”

John gave him a confused look. “To change out of this.” He gestured to his tux.”

“Oh, no, Doctor Watson-Holmes. You are not depriving me of the privilege of unwrapping my wedding present.”

“How do you know this is your wedding present?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Ok, I don't. But you are not getting undressed until we get to the hotel.”

John shoved Sherlock back to keep the detective from looking in his suitcase. “Oi! Keep your eyes to yourself.”

Sherlock's eyes lit up. “I knew you lied earlier. Someone as sentimental as you would never forget the tradition of exchanging gifts.”

“Well, you won't be getting it today, no, or tonight either.”

“Oh, John! You are such a spoil sport.”

“Nope. You are by not letting me get out of this tux.”

“You will be out of it just… when we land, wherever it is Mycroft's planned.”

“And then, my dear husband, you can have both your official and unofficial gifts.” John stretched up and placed a kiss on Sherlock's lips, but the detective didn't let him go. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man tightly.

“Oh brother dear, put him down,” Mycroft grumbled coming into the room, closely followed by his own husband. They were both still wearing their tuxes as well.

“Yours wouldn't let you change either,” Greg noted. “I can't believe I'm actually going to wear this on a plane. It's a bit James Bond-ish, innit?”

Mycroft couldn't let that remark pass by. He wrapped his arms around the DI. “Double-O-Sexy.And anyway. It's not like anyone will see.”

“How d'you mean?” John asked, finally free of his own Holmes.

Sherlock leant down and bit at his ear. “Private jet, husband dear.”

John gave a little laugh. “Of course. I don't know what I was thinking.”

“I was thinking we could join the mile high club,” Sherlock whispered into his ear.

“Sherlock!”

He suddenly grabbed the doctor and shoved him back into the wall. “God, how I have wanted to be married to you for so long. But then Mummy and the dungeon and then… I never thought it would happen and-” John cut him off by kissing him. Sherlock went from aggressive to languid almost instantly, melting against his husband.

Mycroft tapped his brother on the shoulder. “The car leaves in 15 minutes.”

Sherlock just waved him away. “Go without us,” came his muffled reply.

“Mph!” John pushed him away. “No, Mr. Holmes-Watson. I am not missing my first holiday since... Just since.”

Sherlock tried a pout. John shoved the detective's suitcase into his empty hands.

“It's not going to be a holiday though, John. It'll be Mycroft and Greg snogging all the time.”

For some reason Sherlock just saying the word 'snogging' made him laugh. “We'll be doing enough snogging of our own, Babe.”

“It still won't be a holiday.”

“It's not in London. That makes it a holiday,” the doctor argued.

“You're sister isn't in London, but when we go and see her it's not a holiday! And anyway who takes a holiday for 3 months?!”

John tweaked his husband on the nose with his finger. “We do. And I'm sure you'll find plenty of mischief to get into while we're away. Maybe even a nice murder or two, but only after a few weeks.”

The detective groaned, dropped his case and folded his arms in a classic Sherlock strop.

John just sighed and looked over his shoulder at Mycroft. “I am dragging him kicking and screaming if I have to.”

Laughing, Mycroft picked up his own case. “Fine by me.”

That said, John picked Sherlock up and threw him over his good shoulder in a fireman's carry. “If you'll get the door,” the doctor puffed.

For the detective's part, he didn't struggle. He had a very particular problem that his current position hid quite handily. He always enjoyed a bit of manhandling where John was concerned.

“I hope that's your phone in your pocket, Babe,” John whispered when he'd managed to get a few yards ahead of the others.

“Nope.”

“Then you better do something to get rid of it because when we get outside everyone will be waiting by the car. How awkward that will be…”

“John,” he hissed, “that's not helping.”

The doctor giggled.

Sherlock kicked out. “Put me down this minute!”

“Alright.” John dropped him on his lovely arse.

Sherlock gawped, he hadn't expected cooperation, even if it had been heavy handed. He gathered his dignity, thankful no one was in the hallway to see him. “Thanks,” he said wryly.

“No problem.” He went to reach for his hand but Sherlock pulled it away and stuffed them both in the pockets of his tux. “That doesn't work in movies and it doesn't work in reality,” John said with a chuckle at Sherlock trying to hide his erection.

“Sherlock's got a little issue has he?” Mycroft asked as the other two joined him.

“I can fix that,” Greg offered. The three other men raised their eyebrows in unison. “Oi! Get your minds out of the gutters.” He gave Sherlock a direct look. “Just picture Anderson naked.”

The detective made a face and gave a full-body shudder.

“See?”

Mycroft just shook his head and shoved the DI towards the door. “Get out there and into the car before picturing Anderson will no longer be enough.”

John laughed. “If it gets to be a problem, he can always picture Donovan.”

The detective made a gagging sound.

As they stepped back into the main room, two men appeared to take their luggage. The two newlywed couples made their way across the room to the double doors. On the other side, their friends and family waited to see them off.

“Are we there yet?” Sherlock groaned. His head hit the side window.

“Sherlock, we are still in the sky. We are clearly not there yet,” Mycroft said in an exasperated tone.

John took his husband's hand and held it tightly. “Have you deduced your gift yet?”

Sherlock tried to pull his hand away as his lower lip popped out. “I'm insulted by your insinuation. I haven't tried in deference to your 'feelings.'“

“So that's a no.” John kissed the back of the hand that he hadn't let Sherlock take back.

“I've got mini scrabble, Sherlock.”

The detective looked up to glare at his brother.

“Come on, Lock, you love scrabble.”

“John's horrible at scrabble. This should be fun.” Sherlock sat up, grinning with evil delight.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “Greg, I blame you for this.”

“What? How the hell is this my fault?”

John just shook his head and pulled his tie free. That got Sherlock's attention. “Now you are definitely James Bond,” he quipped.

John gave a suggestive eyebrow wiggle that made everyone snigger.

“Bond, you are not,” the DI observed.

“Why not? Because I'm blond?”

“No,” Greg laughed, it was amusing because his hand was rattling around inside the bag of letters. “Because you're short.”

John came out of his seat, headed straight for the taller man, but Sherlock grabbed him around the waist and pulled him down onto his lap.

“See, John,” Sherlock crowed, “This is why a three month holiday is a bad idea.”

“What are you talking about?” He grumbled.

“Well Greg's already cheated.”

“What?” The DI asked. Even Mycroft looked astonished.

“Having 15 letters hidden is cheating, Inspector, I thought you were a clever goldfish.”

John looked at the offending letters still in his hand. “I'll take your word for it. I'm so rubbish, I don't even know the rules. I just shove letters on the board wherever they fit and hope for the best.”

“John, you're not even that good.”

Sherlock caught John's fist on the way to his face. The doctor just broke down in giggles and collapsed on the younger man's lap.

“I'm really not,” John agreed cheerfully.

Mycroft let out a long suffering sigh, then asked Greg, “Are we there yet?” His every inflection was a perfect imitation of his brother.

“No. Now play the damn game!”

Sherlock laughed. “You two must have been idiots for marrying us. You should have known it would mean a long journey afterward.”

John went first. With a shrug, he played the word 'at'.

With a disbelieving look, Greg shook his head. “For once, Sherlock may have understated someone's incompetence.”

“Let's just wait to see how you do shall we?” John grumbled.

“My go!” Sherlock stated, almost jumping out of his seat. The detective played 'chaste', placing the last letter with a flourish of his hand.

“God, I hope not,” John muttered under his breath.

“What?” Sherlock grinned. As he replaced his letters from the bag, he leant over the board to kiss the doctor.

“Stop showing off!”

“Never.”

“I wouldn't get too cocky too soon, brother-mine.”

Mycroft spelled out 'lyses'.

“That's not a word!” Greg objected.

“It's to undergo lysis which is the disintegration of a cell by the rupture of a cell wall,” Sherlock defined before Mycroft could.

“You two are boring,” Greg commented muddling his own 7 letters up, hoping that a new word would just spring to him.

He chuckled as he found one, using Mycroft's 'I' he laid out the word 'dildo'.

Mycroft muttered, “Purile.”

“Childish,” Sherlock agreed.

John snort-giggled and spelled out 'cock'.

“Will you two grow up,” Mycroft grumbled.

“Arguably, we are grown up. Children don't use these words let alone know what a dildo is.”

“You Doctor Watson-Holmes, are bloody annoying.” Sherlock shifted around so he was on his lap, despite the game.

“Why'd you marry me then?”

“Because I am bloody annoying too.”

Sherlock laid out his word, 'orgasm'

Mycroft dropped his head into his hand and muttered something unintelligible, then he straightened to all his prim height. Very slowly and deliberately he spelled out 'come'.

John grinned at the DI. “I like this game.”

Greg nodded. “Me too. Slight problem though.”

“Which is?” His own husband asked him.

“I have 4 e's, 2 a's and a v.” Greg's face suddenly lit up. “Wait, I've got it.” He spelled out 'eek'. Mycroft and Sherlock gave him scornful looks. “What?!”

“If you have lyses, I'm allowed that.”

Mycroft just shook his head. “Just be glad I love you.”

The DI chuckled. “To be honest, if we weren't in love we wouldn't be playing this game.”

Behind them the speaker crackled. “Mr. Holmes, 2 hours until landing.”

John had been sitting with his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he thought. His next word proved to be 'head'. “Well, at least it's better than 'eek' and it fits in with the theme.”

The plane hit a bit of turbulence and the board slid sideways, sending the letters flying.

Mycroft laughed even as the speaker crackled into life again with an apology. “No problem!” He called. “In fact, thank you!”

“John,” Sherlock whinged, “I won't survive another two hours locked up in this metal can. Please, please, please, can we join the mile high club?”

John blushed with embarrassment. “Could you possibly have said that any louder?”

The detective shouted, “Can we please join the mile high club?!”

“No!”

The detective chuckled. “But I'm bored John! Do you get that? Bored!”

“Me too,” his older brother agreed. He threw himself on Greg's lap and turned his head into his neck.

“You two have survived airplane travel before and without us along, mind you. What did you do to pass the time then?” Greg asked with curiosity. “Oh, wait. Sherlock terrorised the flight crew, obviously, but you, Mycroft...”

The detective spoke up, “He is just as good at terrorism as I am. He's simply more subtle about it.”

“I'm surprised you admitted that,” John laughed.

“And anyway… Father entertained us.”

“Doing what?”

Sherlock shrugged looking to his brother for information. “I remember being on Mummy's lap.”

Mycroft smiled. “He kept leaning over to tickle you, 'Lock.”

“Like this?” John asked and wriggled his fingers along his husband's sides.

The detective began writhing so hard he fell off John's lap. That didn't stop him, however. He joined Sherlock on the floor and kept tickling him mercilessly.

Greg raised an eyebrow. “You think you're getting off?” He asked.

Mycroft had no chance to react before he found himself pushed to the floor, with the DI on top of him.

It was another thing the two brothers had in common, they were hopelessly ticklish. John and Greg took ruthless advantage of that fact.

It wasn't until Sherlock shouted out that he had to pee that the doctor relented. Sherlock leapt to his feet and flew to the closet-like bathroom, managing to slam the lightweight door behind him.

“Could you all please strap yourselves in. We will be landing in 15 minutes.”

Sherlock grinned next to John and for once actually did what the faceless voice told him to. The others followed suite.

“Mycie, where are we?” Sherlock asked when they had landed.

Mycroft just shook his head, a sly grin playing with his features, following his brother to the door.

As they climbed from the private jet, John looked around for a car. There wasn't one. Sherlock pulled on his sleeve and pointed to the large helicopter that was sat nearby, its rotors spinning.

Mycroft yelled over the sound of the blades, “Just a short jump to our destination.”

Sherlock jumped into the air. “It's not working, Mycie!”

John clipped him on the back of the head. “Come on, you git,” he said fondly.

They climbed into the helicopter and it took off. Very shortly, they were flying over the coastline, then they headed out to sea. When a cruise ship appeared in the distance, John expected them to fly passed it, but they seemed to be headed directly for it. He let out a groan. Mycroft had to be insane. John could just imagine a reenactment of the sinking of the Titanic once Sherlock got bored. “You're sending us to prison, Mycroft?”

It wasn't him that responded though, it was Sherlock, he looked out the window over John's shoulder and spotted the ship. He groaned.

“I don't know what you mean,” the government official said innocently.

“Locking the four of us up on… yeah a ship with no other passengers for more than an a hour, with him, is a really bad idea.”

“That was actually an astute deduction,” Sherlock remarked. “Oh, don't look at me that way, John. I was referring to your observation that there were no passengers wandering around the decks, not your statement that it was a bad idea. That was completely in error. What it is, is creative torture.”

“I just basically got married with you, little brother. Why on earth would I want to torture you, let alone with your body guard husband around? I would not stand a chance.”

Sherlock leant against his body guard husband and placed his head on his shoulder. If he had to be trapped on a ship, at least he'd be with John.

The helicopter landed and they disembarked. Greg looked out over the ocean. “It's beautiful.”

“No it's not!” Sherlock growled. “Mycroft where's my room?”

“Sherlock, this entire ship is for thousands of people. There's 4 of us. Your room can be wherever you want.”

Sherlock started to stalk off, but was stopped by one word from John, “Husband!”

The detective turned, looking somewhat startled, but with a blush creeping up his neck. “Yes, John?”

“There's a pool. Can we go in the pool?”

“In your £600 tux?”

John laughed. “We're on a £300,000,000 cruise liner, I think £600 would barely touch the sides.”

“I forgot to mention I owned this, didn't I, little brother? Well there's my wedding present to the two of you. Well part of it. Actually it's quite a small part…”

Greg cut him off with a kiss before shoving him back first into the pool. “Now you're the show off!”

Sherlock shrugged, toed off his shoes and jumped, making a huge splash. John and Greg exchanged looks and did likewise. Now there were four ostensibly grown men swimming around in tuxedos. It made for quite the sight.

“Oi, Mycroft!”

Mycroft turned to face his brother, to one almighty splash in the face.

“You're going to pay for that, baby brother. Greg, John, grab him!”

Under normal circumstances, Sherlock could have gotten away, but he found out quickly enough that tuxedos don't make for fast swimming. The two men caught him easily and Mycroft loomed. First, Sherlock laughed, nervously. Second, he fought. Third, Mycroft grabbed him and dunked him under the water.

The detective came up spluttering. He would have lunged for his brother, but John stopped him. There was a man standing unobtrusively nearby. He appeared willing to wait forever rather than interrupt their antics. “Yes?” John called.

“Sorry, Sir, but I wondered where to put the luggage?”

Mycroft answered, “In the two best staterooms.”

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Sherlock reached out and dunked both Greg and John.

“Um, youngest Mr. Holmes, is everything alright?”

Sherlock went to speak, but Mycroft had his hand in his curls and was holding him under the water again.

“Everything's fine, leave us,” Mycroft answered.

The man nodded once and hurried off.

Sherlock was pulled back to the surface. “Now now, baby brother, what to do with you next?”

The detective spluttered out an answer, “That's for John to decide.” He gasped a deep breath before he was plunged back under the water. When he came back up, he continued, “It's his wedding night, after all.”

Mycroft laughed and pushed him through the water towards John. “That it is, 'Lock.”

“But it is also all of our wedding nights. Which means the second you get out of the pool you are most definitely in for it, little bro.”

“John,” Sherlock said seriously, “As my bodyguard, it falls to you to protect me or I shall stay here until I turn into a prune.”

“No you won't. You just splashed the British Government. I can't save you this time. Ready Greg?”

At the DI's nod they began dragging him to the edge of the pool.

Sherlock had no choice but to go along with it, though he did go kicking and screaming. They dragged him from the pool onto the deck like a beached whale, a very skinny beached whale.

Mycroft pulled himself up and out of the pool, his tux hanging around him heavily. “You wanted to see your room, 'Lock,” he declared, leaning down to scoop him up and throw him over his shoulder.

That wasn't what Sherlock had been expecting. He propped his chin on his elbow and watched as John and Greg trailed along behind them. The two were talking animatedly, about Sherlock's position, no doubt. He stuck his tongue out at them.

“Gregory, the door.”

Sighing, the DI rolled his eyes. “Back to Gregory, are we?” He said, even though he moved to open it.

Mycroft carried his brother through and dropped him on the bed. “Now you're in trouble!” He grinned.

John held up his hands. “Wait. Hold it. Nope. Sherlock get off that bed in your soaking clothes. Mycroft, you'll have to get your revenge somewhere else. I've got very particular plans for that bed later.”

“Oh, don't worry, Doctor, this isn't your room, this is one of the hundreds on here. We'll need directions for ours.”

The doctor looked around and indeed could not spot any luggage. “Oh, well, carry on then,” John agreed readily. He and Greg found comfortable chairs in which to sit and watched as Mycroft took his turn tickling the detective.

Greg jerked his head towards the pair, Sherlock specifically. “That is the same man that terrorises New Scotland Yard on a regular basis?”

“That is the British Government,” John countered.

“Fair point.”

“Are you hungry?”

Greg nodded. “Yeah. How long were we flying for?”

“Too long,” the Holmes brothers grumbled. The pair had ceased their tickling and had sat up on the, by now, soaking wet bed.

John smiled fondly. “That one is also the man that kidnaps people as an introduction?”

Suddenly Sherlock yelled, “I've got to pee!” That was the only thing telling the other men that the tickling had continued.

“Time for food, I think,” Mycroft said letting his little brother go.

“Lobster,” John said to no one in particular.

Greg countered with, “Crab legs.”

“Everything,” Sherlock said, pointing at his brother on the way back from the loo and simultaneously ducking the blow the DI sent his way.

“Oh and Sherlock,” Mycroft added. “You will be eating.”

“Oi!” John interrupted the older man. “That's my job!”

“Sweetheart,” Greg placed his hand on his husband's arm, “don't you think we should change into dry clothes before we go to get food?”

There was complete silence for a heartbeat, then they all began to laugh.

“Why?”

“Because it's going to look incredibly weird.”

“We're he only non-staff here and I'm paying them enough for them not to have opinions,” Mycroft responded. “And anyway, my brother and I have plans later.”

“Won't it be cold? You know, with the air conditioning and all?” John tried.

Mycroft considered. “Fair point, Doctor. We shall dine al fresco on one of the larger private decks. Gregory will be able to enjoy the view he admired earlier.”

“We're not getting out of these suits, John, you may as well give up.”

John nodded at the DI. “I guess you're right… but we could try blackmail.”

The older man inclined his head, “Go on.”

Neither of the Holmeses were impressed that the other two were completely ignoring them; like they weren't there.

“They don't get their wedding gifts if they make us keep these suits on.”

The brothers shared a moment of silent communication, then Mycroft spoke up for the both of them, “It's worth it, keep the gifts.”

John swore, “Damn! Then by all means, lets eat. I want out of this thing.”

“And I want you out of it,” Sherlock replied in his silky voice.

“You just completely contradicted yourself!”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft growled at his brother. “Food. Now!”

Sighing, the detective headed out of the door, the other three following. They found themselves on nearly the top deck. They picked a table at random and a waiter rushed over.

Everything they ordered was available. John had a feeling anything they could have imagined would have been available. Sherlock and Mycroft were drinking wine. They had both scoffed when the other two men ordered beer.

“You can scoff all you like, Love,” John leant over and dropped his hand on his knee. “I have never seen you drink any alcohol whatsoever before.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It happens. On occasion. On very special occasions,” he amended. He decided he wasn't close enough to his husband and shifted his chair around so they were sitting thigh by thigh.

Greg saw what he had done and shifted nearer to Mycroft. “Who am I to argue with genius? Anyway, where is this big boat sailing?”

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, Gregory, do you not know me well at all? Has our entire relationship been a farce?”

“Huh?” Greg wasn't worried though. Not one bit.

“It's going wherever we want.”

The meal went by in a flash. Three of the four men were enjoying the quiet that ran parallel to dessert. Amongst them, such moments came rarely.

Sherlock's knee started bouncing under the table - sitting here was boring. He needed a distraction and John was too busy with his ice cream in about 100 different flavours. He waited until the older man leant over for another scoop before dropping his hand on his head and shoving him face first into.

“You'd better run, brother dear.”

Sherlock knocked his chair over backwards in his hurry to stand up and started to run, but where to go? He eyed the nearby rail, considering. What the hell.

“Sherlock! No!” John yelled from where he was giving chase behind.

But Sherlock did, he went up and over the rail. By the time John reached it there was an almighty splash from the pool below. He sighed in relief he had never felt before as he saw his detective surface.

“You are in so much trouble!” He yelled down at him. He turned on the ship's owner. “And so are you!”

“What?” Mycroft asked innocently.

“You basically just told him to do that! And didn't tell me there was a pool on every floor!”

Sherlock walked back to the deck, sheepishly. He had forgotten about John's thing with him and heights. He had probably single-handedly ruined their wedding night. He daren't look up for fear of what he would see on his husband's face.

Bounding over to him, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock as if he would never let go. “You complete arse.”

Greg took Mycroft by the hand and mouthed at him, “Let's go.”

When the two younger men released one another they turned and realised they were alone. John walked over to the bar. “Scotch.”

“John, I'm sorry,” Sherlock whispered at his elbow.

The doctor held up a single finger and downed the scotch. He set the empty glass on the bar. “I know.” Giving himself a shake, he made himself smile. “We're going to act like that didn't just happen. I'll not have it ruin our wedding day. Just remind me to yell at you about it in a week or two.”

“Yes, John.” He nodded once.

“Now get here, you git,” he grabbed him around the back of the neck and pulled him close. “Drink.” He shoved a glass in Sherlock's hand.

The detective made a face, but drank. It felt pleasantly warm as it burnt its way to his stomach. Sherlock hadn't realised how much his repeated swims had chilled him. “Mmm, warm,” he said as he nestled his head in the crook of John's much drier neck. “Nice.”

“I love you, you madman.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock agreed.

The doctor shoved his hand into his wet curls and dragged him away from his shoulder. “You're supposed to say I love you too.”

“I love you too. Now give me my spot back.”

John chuckled and let Sherlock rest his wet head on his shoulder again. He started rocking them back and forth where they were stood, feeling incredibly sentimental.

The more he was thinking of a soaking wet Sherlock the more uncomfortable his pants were becoming. “Off. You. Bedroom. Now.”

The detective chuckled. “Can we have our room number please?” He asked of the guy behind the bar. “And a bottle of champagne. The same as my brother.”

They strode arm in arm to the specified stateroom. When they entered, the champagne was already waiting.

Sherlock closed the door, locking them away from the rest of the world. “Now, Doctor Watson-Holmes, I get to finally unwrap my present.”

“Oi!” John complained, “Who said you could have it now?”

“No, this present John.” Sherlock slid the doctor's tuxedo coat from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor. “I've been waiting for this all day.”

“Mycie, wake up!” Sherlock demanded, charging into their room and jumping on the pair of them.

“God, Sherlock, if I wanted to be awaken at a stupid time in the morning I would have bought my boys with us!” Greg groused.

Mycroft laughed. “We asked for this, Babe, he's a ticking time bomb in an enclosed space.”

Greg pulled the duvet up and over his head. “I nt ow I ud ng ntr un.”

Mycroft pulled the duvet back off his husband's head. “Pardon?”

“I didn't know I was getting another son. This is what my boys used to do, invade the bedroom. It played merry hell with, ahem, extra curricular activities.”

“I sure hope you weren't doing extra curriculars fully clothed at 06:00 in your sleep,” Sherlock teased.

Greg just shrugged.

“And anyway, you're only 5 years older than me!”

“Sherlock, bugger off and let us at least get changed.”

John showed up. “Sorry. He got away from me - ditched me while we were walking around the upper deck.” He took his husband by the ear. “Give the newlyweds some privacy, yeah?”

“But I'm bored. There's nothing to do! And we are also newlyweds!”

John twisted his ear between his fingers making Sherlock grit his teeth.

“Exactly, privacy. If you're a good boy and come back to our room without fighting we may find something to entertain you.”

Sherlock's eyes lit up.

“Not, that,” John corrected. “Something we can all do together, but I might be persuaded to entertain you a bit while we wait for Mycroft and Greg to get ready.”

Sherlock tried to pull free.

“Not going to happen, Babe, not until we get back to our room. Oh and you'll also be eating breakfast before we do anything. At all.

“I'm not going to the dining room,” Sherlock stated flatly.

John pulled him towards the door. “See you two in a bit. Sherlock, I already ordered breakfast brought to our stateroom. It will be waiting for us when we get there.” He closed the door behind them and tugged the detective along in his wake.

“Is your brother 33 or 13?”

Mycroft shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder.” He reached over and grabbed his pillow before smacking Greg in the face with it, it didn't take the DI long to retaliate and put feathers everywhere. By the time the impromptu pillow fight ended, both pillows were almost flat. Greg had collapsed on the floor in a heap. “What do you have planned to keep that nutter of a brother of yours in line?”

Mycroft smiled. “A little shore excursion.”

“We're on a cruise liner.”

“Great powers of deduction, Gregory, but I was thinking more of a kayak.”

“Single or a double?” The DI was already stripping off his pyjamas and throwing on his pants.

“Well this ship has both, but I doubt John would want to be in a plastic can with Sherlock for very long.”

“Do you reckon Sherlock even knows what a kayak is? John told me about the whole 'deleting' thing.”

“If not, he'll find out soon enough.”

“Why, you planning on throwing him in one head first?”

“Not at all.”

The DI raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

“I'd have to throw him in it feet first, else he might get hurt and ruin our honeymoon with the additional complaining.”

Greg barked a laugh at that.

Just as they finished getting dressed for the day, their breakfast arrived. It was enough food for at least six people. Even Mycroft shook his head at it. “It's absolutely decadent.”

That was when the door swung open again. “Mycroft! They have waffles!” Sherlock seemed too pleased with that fact.

The government official rolled his eyes. “They have whatever you want 'Lock. What's with being a child?”

Greg figured, sod it, why fight the inevitable. “Oh, let him stay. They can eat with us. Morning again, John.” He gave the doctor a wave as he came through the door.

“Sherlock's being a brat, I have a horrible feeling this isn't the worst he's going to be.”

The detective poked his tongue out.

“Come on, Babe, let's leave them be.”

“Honestly, John,” Mycroft interrupted. “It's fine, come and join us. This was my idea after all.”

Sherlock bounced a few times on his toes. “Please, John?”

After so many years of avoiding his brother's company Sherlock was actually seeking it out. How could the doctor say no to that? “Alright, Babe. We'll stay.”

“And I can sleep on the floor!”

“No, Sherlock, no, that's too far.”

He pouted. Mycroft just grabbed a waffle from the trolley and shoved it in Sherlock's mouth.

John shook his head. “I'd suggest locking the door when you want privacy, but...”

“It's Sherlock you're talking about,” Greg finished for him. “Don't worry. We'll just be extra romantic or noisy if we don't want him about. That should scare him off.”

“I am here!”

“You are also acting like a child,” Mycroft pointed out. “But it's okay, John, there's enough rooms on this ship for us to stay in a different one every day for a year, he won't be able to track us if I don't want him to.”

“He's got you there, Sherlock.” John selected a muffin and took a large bite.

The younger man looked insulted. “Ridiculous. I could track them anywhere on this ship.”

“We'll see, brother-mine.”

“Is that a challenge, big brother?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, “It may be, for now, eat. I have something planned that may actually expel some of that ridiculous energy of yours.”

The doctor walked over to the detective and collapsed on his lap, his reply was cut off with a grunt.

John was able to get a decent amount of food into his husband by feeding it to him one bite at a time. Sometimes, the doctor wondered if Sherlock objected to eating as much as he wanted people to believe or if being hand fed by the doctor was his goal all along. Sherlock seemed to track John's thoughts because he grinned. The doctor just rolled his eyes. “Come on Sherlock, up, let's go and get dressed.”

“You'll want to have him in trunks, John.”

Sherlock ignored the fact his brother was talking about him, not to him, and just dutifully followed John out by the hand.

“Is this how you used to act around your brother, Babe?” John was genuinely curious. “I never would have imagined it.”

“When I was small, yes. Mycie used to let me get into everything. He used to be...” Sherlock decided to just say it, “fun.”

“I think he still can be.”

“How d'you mean?”

“You haven't deduced where we're going today? Or what we're doing?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Have you turned your deductions off or something?”

Sherlock pushed John backwards into their room, he kept pushing until he fell backwards over the bed. He loomed down over him, “My deductions are not on an on/off switch basis, John.”

Right, John thought, Sherlock's deductions were definitely switched off and he was definitely still looming over him. “It's not like we've been living celibate, Babe. What is it that has your libido so fired up?”

“You're my husband, now, John,” the detective explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah. I noticed. I was at the wedding.”

“It makes a difference.” He laid himself down on top of his doctor and then the door swung open.

Mycroft charged in and jumped on the pair of them. “Come on, 'Lockie! I'm bored!

Sherlock groaned and started batting at his brother, trying to get him off of them.

John's mind screeched to a halt. Was that... That was... He rubbed at his eyes. Yes, that was Mycroft, the British Government, but the man was wearing a smug grin.

Greg spoke from the door where he was stood laughing. “Sorry, John it was my idea. I dared him.”

“Holmeses do that? Take dares, I mean.” John couldn't believe it.

“Apparently so.” Greg laughed.

“Come on, 'Lock, you should be changed by now!” Mycroft whined.

“I'm clearly not,” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the look on his brother's face.

“Then, I'll sleep on the floor!” Mycroft pronounced.

Sherlock stood and crossed his arms. “I don't sound like that!” The other three men snorted in unison causing the detective to pout.

John fetched his husband's swimming trunks and tossed them to him. “Yes, you do, Babe. Now get changed.”

“I don't want these ones, I want the orange ones!”

Sighing, the doctor turned and fished the orange ones from the drawer.

Sherlock grinned, not bothered at all that his brother and his own husband was in the room when he dropped his pants.

“Oh, Christ!” Greg rapidly turned his back on the detective. “You could warn a bloke you know.”

Sherlock looked at the back of the DI's head as he pulled on his trunks. “Why?”

“Brother-mine, not everyone is as blasé about nudity as you.”

“You're my brother and it's nothing he hasn't seen before,” he indicated Greg with a tilt of his head.

John just shook his own head and shoved a towel into Sherlock's cloth covered chest. “Come on.”

It wasn't until they were on deck and not heading to the nearest swimming pool that Sherlock's eyes narrowed. “What have you planned, Mycroft. We're not going swimming. I don't trust this.”

Mycroft pushed him to the railing that went around the edge. In sight were four kayaks. “We can go and look at the caves, little brother, you used to love it as a kid.”

“Not to be dense,” John said, “but the kayaks are way down there and we are way up here. How do we get to them?”

Sherlock leant out over the rail and pointed. “It's obvious, John. There's a debarkation port down there. “We'll go down and exit that way. Or…” he looked up and down the deck for a moment and then opened a hatch. He pulled out a rope ladder and threw it over the side.

Before John could stop him, his husband was over the rail and gone. “Sherlock!” He'd never be able to follow him, not with his bad shoulder. The doctor gave a frustrated growl and started running. He accosted the first person he saw and demanded directions to the debarkation point. When he made it to the kayaks Sherlock was nowhere in sight. He climbed into one, looking around.

“John!” The detective yelled. The doctor looked up and saw Sherlock stood next to his brother on the deck, not on the ladder.

“You bloody wanker!” John yelled up at him even though he knew his words would be muddled at this distance. If the detective didn't get himself killed, John thought he just might do it for him.

Sherlock laughed all the way down the steps to the door beside the kayaks, he climbed into the one beside his husband, “Don't be like that, John.”

“What? You are a wanker and you are just asking for trouble.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I'm merely trying to get you over your irrational fear of seeing me in elevated locations.”

John huffed. “I don't need immersion therapy to get over my thing with you and heights, thank you very much.” He dipped one end of his paddle into the waves and headed towards the small island that could be seen close by.” John took off at speed, but due to Sherlock's attempted decent he could feel the ache in his shoulder become prominent.

Sherlock caught him up and threw him some rope. “Tie it around the back of mine if you get too tired,” he offered.

Greg pulled up on their left and Mycroft came around the other side of him. The island they had seen in the distance was rapidly drawing near.

“We'll go ashore there,” Mycroft pointed to a small sandy beach. It looked very inviting.

John pushed his way into the gap between the brothers. He glanced at Sherlock, “I'm not a complete invalid,” he grumbled.

Sherlock frowned. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean…” he trailed off.  
The doctor forced himself to soften his tone. “I know. Sorry. But I'll be fine.”

A few minutes later, they beached the kayaks on the sandy shore. Mycroft pulled a map from out of his kayak and looked at it. “The caves open up just down the shoreline, about half a mile. There are packs in the back of the kayaks with torches and such. We'll be wanting them.”

As Sherlock opened up the back of his he saw everything he would need for crabbing as well as caving. “Mycroft?” He questioned jumping up and down where he was.

“Yes, 'Lock, a little further up there are rock pools.”

The detective was off, running along the shoreline. John laughed at the sight and felt the last of his tension seep away. He sped up into a trot. “Hurry up, you two, or there won't be any crabs left. He'll have caught them all.”

Mycroft watched him go fondly. He reached out and grabbed Greg's hand. “I have no idea what I did to find you. But him… how the hell did he find John?” He rested his head on the DI's shoulder.

As they walked along, Greg paused from time to time to pick up shells or a bit of worn seaglass. Mycroft watched how the DI held each item and ran his fingers over the surfaces. There was something pleasantly peaceful about the whole thing. Even John and Sherlock's distant laughter seemed peaceful. He made his way towards the sea just to run his toes through the water. Greg joined him and it soon turned into a splashing competition.

A wave rolled in and caught Mycroft off guard. He fell and landed on his arse, his limbs flailing in the water around him. Greg offered him a hand up, but Mycroft used it to his advantage and pulled his husband into the water with him.

“I've heard water isn't great lube.”

Mycroft clipped him on the back of the head. “Behave, Gregory!”

“Behave? Me?”

They rode the waves a while until Sherlock came splashing up. “Look, Myc!” He was actually holding a crab between two fingers. Its claws were working furiously to close on the menace that held it from behind.

“Can I hold it?” Greg asked, as he stumbled unsteadily to his feet.

Sherlock frowned, confused. “Um… okay.”

The DI took it between his fingers and grinned. “Has John caught one?”

“Nope.” Sherlock seemed quite proud of himself. “There's a knack to it that John clearly doesn't possess.”

“And you, being a genius, do.” Greg's teasing sarcasm was lost on the younger man. He had the urge to toss the crab at Sherlock's hair, but thought it would be cruel to the small creature. He looked it in the eyes. “You and your lot must be sea going masterminds if only the great Sherlock Holmes can capture you.”

The detective grinned. “Are you talking to a crab?”

Greg just grumbled something that sounded like, “Piss off.”

John came splashing up. “Why am I the only one chasing crabs?” He looked at his husband. “Am I going to have to put a bell on you? You keep running off.”

“Herman wanted to meet Mycroft and Greg,” Sherlock offered in explanation. “See, he and Greg have been introduced.”

The more attention that was being paid to it the more the crab thrashed around.

John held his hand out for Mycroft to take, the older man got to his feet with the doctor's help.

“Come on then, let's prove my brother wrong,” Mycroft suggested.

They took off together down the shore, leaving Sherlock and Greg behind. The DI dropped Herman in the water and watched him swim/scuttle away.

“You didn't even let me say goodbye,” Sherlock complained.

The DI laughed and grabbed the sleeve of his… hang on, checkered shirt… that had to be John's.

“There a problem? Greg?”

“No,” Greg shook his head. “It's just, have you been raiding your husband's closet?”

Sherlock looked down at his shirt. “So what if I have. It's a perfectly servicable shirt. And you just now noticed. You call yourself a DI.”

“You always tell me I'm unobservant. But you're dodging the issue. Wearing his shirt is absolutely soppy.” Greg grinned from ear to ear.

“It's not his shirt.”

“And now you're telling lies that even the unobservant DI can notice.”

Sherlock just shook his head and ran after his husband and brother. Said DI wasn't far behind.

John was doing a victory dance around a pool and waving his net in the air. He had caught two crab with one swipe of the net. “Beat that, Sherlock Holmes!”

“Don't need to. I caught the first one.” John poked his tongue out but Sherlock's attention was side tracked - to the cave.  
“Coming?” He didn't wait around for a response.

The floor of the cave was covered with a light dusting of sand that thinned even more the further he ventured back into it. He was far enough in that it was getting difficult to see. Sherlock dropped his pack and drew out a torch, flicking it on. Two bright, shiny spots appeared to stare at him from back in the gloom.

John came up behind him. “Woah!”

“It's alright, John, not scared of eyes are you?”

“Maybe we should get out of here.”

Sherlock chuckled. “The Afghan army captain scared of a cave?”'

John grabbed his wrist and began tugging him back.

“John, calm down, it's just some of that sea glass imbedded in the wall of the cave.”

“Are you sure?” John asked. “Of course you're sure.” He walked towards the glimmering spots to check it out. There were two amber bits of glass in the wall just like Sherlock had suggested.

“That's not glass,” Mycroft called from closer to the entrance. “It's pirate treasure, 'Lock.”

Sherlock growled. “I'm not a child anymore, Mycroft.”

The government official laughed. “We can still play pirates.”

“Yeah,” John agreed. “Could be fun.” He began picking at the 'treasure' and actually got both bits of glass loose. “My first booty!” the doctor crowed, then he flinched. Someone was certain to make a wise crack over that. No one did. Mycroft and Greg joined him and helped to dig out some other things from the cave walls.

Sherlock watched them for a while before wandering back out of the cave. The detective climbed the rocks and ended up standing up over the entrance where he could look out over the sea. Every now and again, he'd toss a pebble down to fall just outside the cave. He jumped down onto the shore and wandered back up the beach. He sank down onto a large rock in a different rock pool to the first one and used a twig to push around the things beneath the low level of water.

Mycroft wandered from the cave and looked around to find his brother. Seeing him, he walked over and sat by his side. He found his own twig and started prodding at things in the pool too. “It's not what we're used to, is it?”

Sherlock prodded at a particular rock extremely hard. “What's not what we're used to?”

Mycroft gestured around them with his stick. “A holiday. Peace. No wars to dictate. No crimes to solve.” He tossed the stick to the side. “Husbands to make it enjoyable and worthwhile.”

“I guess not,” he agreed absently.

Mycroft watched him out of the corner of his eye for a moment, when he heard the others clambering out of the cave, laughing and joking. “'Lock, is something wrong?”

The detective didn't look up at him, just kept prodding at the things in the water. “I don't want John to get bored.”

Mycroft's eyebrow shot up. “Does he sound bored to you?”

“I don't mean of the holiday.”

“You mean of you?”

Sherlock nodded. “It's only a matter of time. You always used to tell me when I was young that if something is too good to be true, it usually is.”

“John Watson will never get bored with you, of you or by you.” Mycroft splashed the water. “He's completely besotted.”

“I don't...”

Greg and John dropped their 'booty' next to the shallow pool, oblivious to the change in mood.

“I found the most treasure, Myc,” the DI announced proudly. “We have to take it back to our ship with us.” He was even more proud of the fact that that sentence actually made sense whether they were playing pirates or not.

Sherlock plastered a smile on his face that was clearly fake.

John noticed, but elected not to say anything... yet. He'd give his husband time to open up about whatever was bothering him. If he didn't, well, the doctor would force it out of him.

“It's time we head back to the ship,” Mycroft announced, noting the position of the sun in the sky.

“Not hungry,” Sherlock muttered as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Don't care, Sherlock,” John called after him. “You are eating lunch.”

“And we can always come back this afternoon, or even another day,” Mycroft added.  
John and Greg scooped up their treasure and carried it back to the kayaks.

Sherlock gave them an odd look. “You were serious about taking it back with us?”

“We worked hard for this!” John grinned at him. “Of course we're taking it back.”

Sherlock shrugged as he climbed into his kayak. He used the paddle to push himself off the gravel and began rowing back towards the ship.

Sod, this, John thought. The whole thing was typical Sherlock. The man couldn't enjoy a natural high without suffering an inevitable crash soon thereafter. The doctor would get him back to the ship and find something to alleviate the situation. He smiled to himself - he still hadn't given the man his present. Maybe that would help. However, Sherlock was back to having the energy of a child. He shot off so fast that the others couldn't keep up.

“What's his problem?” John asked.

Mycroft did know what to say, so he didn't say anything just kept paddling.

When they tied their kayaks back to the side of the boat Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, with the size of the ship… the doctor sighed, Sherlock wouldn't be found until he wanted to be.


	5. Crossed Wires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 2500 words have been added to the previous chapter. You'll want to read them before proceeding.

John wandered the different decks, hoping to come across Sherlock by accident. He wondered what his moody husband had got into his head to brood about this time. He went over everything that had happened but couldn't think of anything that would make him be like that… or even feel like that.

When he eventually 'found' Sherlock, the doctor knew it was because the other man was ready to be found. “There you are, Love. You had me worried.”

“Why?”

Damn, the idiot could be so oblivious to certain things. “You just rowed off. By the time we caught up you had disappeared.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That's all you have to say.” John wanted to shake him. “What's wrong, Babe?”

“You'll be getting bored soon.”

The doctor blinked. That didn't even make sense. “What?”

“With me. You'll be getting bored soon.”

John shook his head. “Nonsense.”

“But-”

“But nothing, Babe,” he snatched Sherlock's hand from the rail he had been leaning on and tugged him towards one of the lower decks. “Mycroft's got you waffles.”

“That's it?”

“Nothing in our marriage certificate says I have to listen to you talking bollocks.” He kept tugging him towards lunch and their holiday buddies.

Sherlock smiled despite himself. “Nothing in our marriage vows says I have to eat constantly, either.”

“But you'll eat for me. Won't you, Babe”

“For you John, I'd do anything.”

John grinned. “Then apart from eating and sleeping, can you promise me one thing? You will completely forget about all this bored bollocks.”

“Will you be satisfied if I promise to try?”

John went up on tiptoe and kissed the tip of his husband's nose. “For now.”

“For now?”

“Well, basically if you don't buck your ideas up and it is brought back up again I will be forced to take measures.”

Sherlock snorted and started walking in the direction of the restaurant, one of them at least. “I can't imagine what those would be.”

“And I'm not telling. I can't let you know all my secrets, you might get bored with me.” John bumped his husband's shoulder with his own as they walked. He was almost surprised when Sherlock laughed.

They met Mycroft and Greg at the same table they'd been at the night before. Mycroft's worried expression cleared immediately upon seeing his brother and John. “We would have waited, but...” He gestured at their half empty plates.

“It looked too good to wait.” Greg leant back and rubbed his stomach in a show of satisfaction.

“Did you do anything stupid, 'Lock?”

The detective sank into a chair that was pulled out for him. “This idiot wouldn't let me.”

John clocked him on the back of the head.

“It was a compliment,” Sherlock objected. “No other idiot could keep my behaviour in line.” He laughed and ducked the next incoming blow, but Mycroft grabbed him by the shirt. He pulled him to his feet.

“Myc-”

“Shut up.” He pulled him towards him, around the table and hugged him tightly. “Let him be good to you, 'Lock,” Mycroft whispered into his brother's ear. “You can have this.” He let him go with a meaningful look, then returned to his seat.

“You may want to check that Mycroft has all his brain cells,” Sherlock suggest to the DI.

This time it was Mycroft who clocked him.

John was just glad that Sherlock's mood had shifted - his husband's moods were so mercurial. “I don't know what to eat. I wish I could have one of everything.”

Mycroft clapped his hands and a waiter appeared within moments. “One of everything for this fine gentlemen.”

“No!” John objected. “I can't possibly eat that much.”

Sherlock took the doctor's hand. “Go ahead, I'll help you eat it all “

“And if you can't,” Greg interrupted. “I sure can.”

“You've already eaten…”

“Your point?” The DI asked with a raised eyebrow.

Mycroft shook his head and waved the waiter away. “Ignore them.”

Greg grabbed a clean napkin and started folding it. Soon, he had made himself a pirate hat which he placed on his head. It was more amusing that Greg knew origami let alone how to make a hat. “Pirating is hungry business and I still don't know what I'm going to do with all my treasure.”

“You'd better get rid of it in case of real pirates,” Sherlock said with a sly grin.

John raised an eyebrow, even as Greg looked mock offended.

“I am a real pirate!”

Sherlock snorted his derision. He would show Greg what a real pirate was soon enough.

The waiter returned just then and set a ridiculous amount of food on the table in front of John. It covered most the free space.

The doctor grinned. “What are holidays for if not the extra 5 stone?”

Sherlock lifted his shirt and looked at his belly. “I wonder what I would be like with an extra 5 stone.”

“Normal,” John answered digging into the nearest dish.

Sherlock lunged for the waffles before either of the others could get them. He ate three of them. It was such an unusual sight that the other three men stopped eating to watch him in fascination.

“Bloody hell,” Greg said almost reverently. “I saw it, but I don't believe it.”

John shook his head. “Neither do I. Are you storing up fat for the winter?”

“Nope. I'm storing energy for later tonight, husband.”

Mycroft's coffee was spat all over Greg.

“It's a good job you were facing your own husband, brother dear, else all our food would be ruined.”

Greg used his pirate hat to dry himself. “You are a ridiculous man, Sherlock.”

“So says the man wiping his face with a napkin pirate hat.”

Sherlock, apparently bored with the conversation, grabbed yet another waffle.

“These are good. You know, John, if you want me to eat at home get these and only these.”

The doctor suspected there would be three waffle irons and a variety of batter mixes waiting for them when they got back home thanks to Mycroft.

“You should try the ones with chocolate chips.” Greg pointed to a second stack of waffles with his fork.

The corner of Sherlock's lips curled into a smile and he lunged for the plate. He stood with it, turned and sat at another table. When John went to join him he looked over his shoulder and growled. “No! They are mine.”

John couldn't help but laugh.

Minutes later, every waffle had been consumed by the detective. As he pushed back from the table, John sat in his lap and reached out to feel Sherlock's distended stomach. “Amazing.”

“Bored,” was all he said.

John's eyes widened. “You've just eaten 8 waffles. How on earth can you be bored?”

He shrugged. “Bored.”

“I suppose we need the next round of entertainment,” Mycroft offered, but by the time he had finished his sentence, Sherlock was off.

“Somebody needs to nail his feet to the floor,” Greg muttered.

John rolled his eyes. “You'd have to catch him first.”

“Hang on, didn't my brother say something about being a real pirate?”

Greg and John shared a look over the table before they were both up and off to protect their treasure.

They were too late, both of their treasure troves were missing. John and Greg met back on deck.

“The Dread Pirate Holmes has made off with my treasure,” the DI declared. “Yours too?”

John was about to reply when he heard a distant cry of 'Yo, ho, ho!' He burst out laughing, he couldn't help himself.

Sherlock was on the deck above, they were staring up at him when they heard another yell, Mycroft was on the deck below with John's little plastic box of goodies, Sherlock had Greg's.

“God, it's both of them!” Greg complained.

“Isn't it always? Remind me why getting them to get along with each other again was a good idea?” John looked from one Holmes to the other. “They're forcing us to split up.”

Greg reached out and pulled John back into the deck further so the brothers couldn't see them. “Then let's not. We'll both go after Mycroft,” he whispered. “He's more likely to give up first.”

John jerked his head towards his husband. “I'll go this way, so they'll think I'm going after Sherlock, then I'll double back around.” He leant over the edge and looked up. “You're going to pay for this Sherlock!”

Greg joined him, but looked down. “So are you!”

Sherlock stuck out his tongue at John, then he ran.

Below, Mycroft leant up against the rail and gave a cheeky smile, daring Greg to come after him. Then he, too, took off, but in the other direction. Greg rolled his eyes. “Guess I'll catch you later.”

John agreed loudly and made a point of stomping directly below Sherlock.

Mycroft debated just how hard to make his husband work to find him. As he rounded a corner onto another portion of the deck, he saw a large climbing wall. He scaled it and ducked behind a decorative fake rock to wait.

Greg made sure to stay within sight of John, but with a big enough gap between them to make it appear that he was alone.

When he heard a whistle, he knew Mycroft could see him, but from where he was stood the only place anyone could see him was above. The DI wasn't completely stupid after all.

He started up the climbing wall. When he was almost to the top, Mycroft scrambled horizontally and started down at another location. Greg swore, his husband was fast!

It was fine, though, John was faster. He had years of chasing Sherlock through London… or rather above London, so he knew his own thing or two about climbing. He waited until Mycroft had both feet flat on the ground, pushed him into the opposite wall, face first and snapped Greg's handcuff around his wrists.

“You brought your handcuffs on a cruise!” Mycroft yelled.

Greg jumped down next to them. “Always on duty, me.” He grinned. “But we had no idea where we were going we could have been going to Bangkok for all we knew. Needed to be prepared.”

Mycroft laughed, then he tossed a cheeky grin over his shoulder. “You may have caught me, but you'll never catch my brother.”

“We'll just see about that.”

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. “What- argh!” John had squeezed the cuffs around his wrist tighter. He pulled Mycroft back by the scruff of the neck. They dragged him in the nearest room and dropped him in a chair.

“You're going to tell us where he is,” the doctor said, leaning back and folding his arms.

“Ha. Nothing you do will make me betray Captain Holmes. I'll die first.” Mycroft clamped his mouth shut, refusing to say more.

“Stay back, Watson,” Greg ordered. “This could get ugly.” He looked at his husband. “You leave me no choice - tickle torture.” The DI reached for Mycroft's foot and removed his shoe and sock. “This is your last chance to talk.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Greg lunged. He grabbed the arms of the chair, changing tactics as he kissed the older man passionately.

“John will tickle you relentlessly and that is the last kiss you'll be getting until you give him up.”

Mycroft chased his husband with his lips to no avail. When John started tickling him, he squealed and jerked his foot away. “This is clearly against the Geneva Convention!”

“Who gives a shit?” Greg smirked. “Where. Is. He?”

“I'm not telling you anything-” he cut off, laughing.

“Then we'll just have to up the anti then, won't we?”

Just as Greg was about to do so, Sherlock's head poked around the door. “You'll never catch me!”

“Oi! Get back here,” John yelled, then took off running.

Greg grinned at his 'prisoner'. “Alone at last. There's no one to make me hold back now.”

He picked up the still cuffed Mycroft, spun him around and threw him back on the bed.

“Where's our treasure?” He growled.

“I won't talk.”

Greg nipped at his throat. “Where's our treasure?”

“You can't make me.”

Greg pulled up his husband's shirt to reveal his belly. “Where. Is. Our. Treasure?”

Mycroft began to thrash and Greg blew a huge raspberry against his belly button.

“Hidden!” He snickered.

“I gathered that, dumbass! I've tried playing nice. I've tried tickling. What's next, hmm? You could always tell me where it is?”

Sherlock careened into the room, wielding a shuffle board stick like a sword. “Unhand my brother or face the wrath of Captain Holmes, the scourge of the sea.”

“Ah, is the big brother getting saved by the little brother for a change?”

John charged into the room, smacking the board from his hand. “Now the fun begins.”

Sherlock held his hands out in front of himself. “I won't be taken down so easily.”

With a leap, John proved those words wrong. He wrestled his husband to the floor and sat atop him. “Now you're my prisoner.”

Sherlock wriggled and fought until the doctor spun him over and pinned his hands behind him. He forced him to his feet. Mycroft had sat up even as Greg had his hand on his shoulder. “Neither of you are going anywhere.”

Two Holmes caught by two less than ordinary men, the brothers shared uncomfortable glances. “This isn't good.”

“What shall we do with them, Lestrade?” John asked with a grin.

“They surely would have made us walk the plank, they're pirates, Watson. Justice would suggest we do the same to them.”

Mycroft suddenly started fighting even being watched by the DI's evil smirk.

“You don't need to make us both walk it! Just me.”

“Myc, I'm the captain…”

“They're under the delusion they have a say in the matter, Watson. What say you?”

“They be scurvy fools, is what I say.”

Sherlock laughed, completely out of character. John twisted his arm up his back. “Argh! Sorry,” he growled, straightening his face immediately.

“Bring him,” John ordered, dragging Sherlock from the room.

The two 'pirates' put up a valiant struggle all the way down to the boarding portal. John brought Sherlock to the edge and held him there. “The captain can go first.”

It was like play froze for a moment as Greg pulled out their diving gear and got Sherlock sorted out. Then they continued. John used the board Sherlock had had earlier and started prodding him off the ship.

At the last moment, Sherlock reached out and pulled John into the ocean with him.

The doctor came up spluttering and wiping saltwater from his eyes. “Git!” he shouted as he bobbed next to him.

Above them, the other two men were laughing heartilty. Mycroft, uncuffed and already half geared up, shouted down, “That's showing him, John!”

“Your go,” Greg's evil grin was still completely apparent.

“No- don't… wait I can help.”

The DI/pirate shook his head, then pushed Mycroft over the side.

As Mycroft bobbed back to the surface, Greg tossed a rope ladder down. John started climbing back up, taking the DI's hand when he reached the top and climbed onto the deck.

“Raghrahr!” Sherlock shouted up.

“Be quiet!” John yelled back. “Let the sharks get you.”

The doctor and the DI threw the rest of their kit on whilst the other two were thrashing around 15 yards below.

“Look out below!” John leapt out into the nothingness and dropped to the surface with a splash. Greg was right behind him.

The whole time this had been going on, a worker had been watching from a nearby motorboat. He tossed out a rope that the 4 men grabbed, then he put the small boat in motion. Before long he had pulled them to their dive zone.

The four of them resurfaced, coughing, but laughing.

“Wait!” Sherlock stopped the guy on the boat from speeding off again. “That was fun. I want to do it again.”

Mycroft waved a hand and the boat started up once more. The man made it zig and zag unpredictably. Sherlock giggled like a madman. Even more so when he realised the others had let go and he was all alone.

The man deposited him back where they'd started and Sherlock was still chuckling.

“Come on, Babe,” John pulled the snorkel from the back of his kit over his face. “Bite.”

John took Sherlock's hand and pulled him along. Almost instanty, they found themselves swimming through a school of jellyfish. The jellyfish weren't the kind that stung, they were almost transparent and ghosted over their bodies.

Sherlock reached out to touch one and John smacked his hand. “They won't hurt me.”

“You might hurt it, you git. It's fragile.”

“I'll be careful.” The detective nudged it with one finger. It felt like gelatine. He played with it for a while until a buddy came over.

“John, can we keep them?”

Sherlock folded his arms in a classic strop, at least he tried, it didn't work in the middle of the ocean.

“You got to keep your treasure!”

“Find a different treasure to take back, Babe.” John tugged on Sherlock and they moved closer together. “You know, shells or something.” He gave him a salty kiss. Suddenly Mycroft was swimming between them, pushing them apart.

“Myc!”

“What?”

“You know what!”

“Payback. You thought it would be funny to jump on me and Gregory at 6am.”

The DI swam through next, taking his time. “Payback's a bitch, innit?”

Sherlock reacted by jumping on Greg and dragging him under the surface. He swam as deep as he could before letting the other man go.

The older man immediately swam to the surface but Sherlock stayed deep. The ocean was clear, but as deep as he was, he was practically invisible, with his mask he could see so he continued to hold his breath and swam towards the nearest lump of coral.

John looked around, waiting for his husband to surface. He waited. And waited. And... “Grr.” He dove under and looked around, trying to see where Sherlock had gone.

But when he went down, Sherlock came up about 100 meters away, his snorkel back in place as he looked around at the rather beautifully coloured fish. He reflected on that thought. What was happening to him? He was becoming sentimental!

John came up at the same moment Sherlock went back under. It was almost as if it had been choreographed. The doctor swore and ducked beneath the surface once more.

The whole time, Greg and Mycroft looked on, laughing.

“Shall we-”

“No!” Mycroft stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “This is too entertaining.” It was even more amusing because for once, Sherlock didn't seem to be doing it on purpose.

The pattern repeated itself a few more times. Each time John surfaced, his swearing seemed to kick up a notch.

Finally, Sherlock came up, wanting to show his latest discovery to his husband. When, the doctor surfaced, too, Sherlock waved at him cheerfully and called out, “John! Come see!'

The doctor turned his back and swam back to the still laughing Mycroft and Greg.

“Piss off,” he called over his shoulder.

“John!”

Nothing.

“John, come see!” Sherlock frowned and swam towards the trio. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong!” John shouted. “I couldn't find you!”

“That's not my fault!”

Mycroft and Greg backed up a bit.

“Of course it's your bloody fault, you great moron!”

Sherlock puffed up with indignation, though it was rather unimpressive as he bobbed in the water. “All I did was swim! There were these little blue and yellow fish that I was following.”

“You bloody well knew what you were doing! You had me so worried!”

Sherlock frowned for a moment. “What the-” he trailed off in a dejected shrugged. “Whatever,” he turned and swam back dropping the lump of coral he had brought over to show John.

“John,” Greg called, “it was obvious Sherlock had no idea what was happening. He's completely innocent. For once.”

“Oh, bloody hell.” John wiped his wet hair back from his forehead. “Now I've got to apologise.”

“I'd give him a minute.”

Sherlock was back by the coral at this point, swimming around.

It was painfully obvious how he was making sure he didn't go under.

John swam over to him. “'Lock, I'm sorry. I realise you weren't doing it on purpose. I shouldn't have overreacted.”

“Right.” Sherlock huffed, and kicked out, swimming just a couple of feet further away from the doctor.

John had not felt so guilty in such a long time. Not since months ago when Sherlock had first proposed. Just an hour ago they'd been running around like children playing pirates even Mycroft had been enjoying it. Now… Sherlock looked much like he had that day months ago when he had turned him down, he should have the right to be pissed off, but instead he was angry, but not at John, at himself.

John edged closer to his husband. “There were little blue and orange fish?”

“Yellow,” Sherlock corrected automatically.

“Did they look like Dory?” John eased a hand into Sherlock's wet curls.

“Who?”

“Nevermind. 'Lock I'm really sorry.”

Sherlock nodded once, tugging his head away from his hand. “I promised I wouldn't ruin it like I did last night,” he said quietly. “I was only following the fishies. They were actually quite cute and entertaining.

“Did you just say fishies?” John wrapped his arms around his detective. Sherlock shrugged. “You did. You really like them. Maybe we need to get an aquarium for the flat, after all.”

He shrugged again, wriggling free. He poked his head just under the surface trying to find the shoal of fish.

John tapped his husband on the shoulder and redirected his attention to the left a bit. There were fish of every description swimming about. He took Sherlock's hand and tugged in that direction. Sherlock glanced about for a minute and took a big breath to go under but stopped himself, instead he just settled for watching from above the surface.

John tapped Sherlock's shoulder once again to get his attention and the other man surfaced. John looked at him wistfully. “Well, Love, I feel like a complete arse. Please, go ahead and look at the fishies. Get as close as you want.”

“And now you're mocking me?”

“What, Babe? No.”

Sherlock pushed his hair back, suddenly over emotional. A lot had happened in a few days and his time alone earlier hadn't done his over thinking Mind Palace any favours. He'd got married, his mother had attempted to ruin it. He hadn't been on a plane since he was a child. He was closer to Mycroft than ever. He moved away from John again, trying to distract himself.

John dithered, not sure if he should continue his pursuit of his husband or give him some space. He settled on swimming close to him and keeping him in sight.

Sherlock didn't seem to notice he was there and if he did, he didn't care. His head occasionally went lower than normal, but he didn't completely break below the surface. Sometimes he'd stop to view whatever it was he had collected.

John couldn't stand it any longer. He swam forward and took his husband's hand.

Sherlock lifted his head from the water. “Yes.”

“Let's go look at the fish together.”

“I thought we were,” he said. He looked around in search of his brother and spotted the two of them up the rocks some distance away. He thought about swimming after them, but changed his mind, looking back down at the slightly bigger fish.

John dove under the water and swam down, twisting about to look back at Sherlock. He gestured for him to join him. When that didn't work, he tugged on the detective's flippered foot.

When he pulled back to the surface, John had had enough. He grabbed Sherlock's face between his hands and smashed their lips together. “You can be such a prat.”

The detective had started to pull back, but John refused to let him go. Instead, the doctor placed kiss after kiss on whatever part of Sherlock he could reach at the time.

Sherlock wanted to be annoyed, but the whole thing was absurd. He started to giggle. “Alright. Alright, John! You're forgiven for overreacting.”

The doctor continued. “Not good enough!” He said between kisses.

“And I love you.”

John smiled at Sherlock and gave him another peck. “I love you too, Babe. Don't you forget it.”

He pouted. “I don't forget anything.”

“Of course you don't. Now what is it you wanted to show me a while ago before I went off on one?”

“This weird coral shape, it was twisted like it had grown around something and yet there was nothing inside it for it to grow around.”

John laughed. “That's my husband, finding a mystery in the middle of the ocean. I don't know if we can find it again, but we can try.” Together, they swam back in the other couple's direction, scouring the floor of the ocean with their eyes.

They were lucky it was shallow and the water was so clear. John compared it to the Thames in his head, how much cleaner it was. Suddenly his swimming came to a stop and he splashed Sherlock.

“Hey!”

“Down there!” John pointed.

Sherlock dove down and scooped up the bit of coral. When he surfaced, he was holding it over his head in triumph. “Look, John. It's just like I told you.”

“Who's got the smallest hands?” He asked.

“Probably Lestrade.”

“I heard that!” Greg yelled from where the two of them were swimming towards them. “And it's Greg!”

He held his hand out for the lump of coral and then stuck his baby finger into the gap. It actually fit quite nicely. Greg grinned at the other man. “Aw, 'Lock, I didn't know you cared.” He waved his hand about. “But I'm already taken.”

“Yes, you are,” Mycroft agreed as he took his husband's hand to examine the 'ring'. “It's quite lovely, isn't it?”

“Where'd you get it?” He asked his brother.

Sherlock nodded towards the area between where they had been and where they'd been dropped by the boat. “I found it when I was following the funny coloured fish.”

John and Greg exchanged grins as they listened to their husbands talk about the coral and the fish. It was rather endearing.

The DI glanced towards the small boat where the man from the cruise ship was watching with a drink in his hands. He decided he could use a drink himself and swam in that direction.

He didn't even need to open his mouth as two beers were passed over the side. The DI passed one to John and turned back to the brothers.

“How long have we got?” He asked the driver.

“About 90 minutes, sir.”

Greg frowned as he looked at Sherlock. The younger man's face had turned as red as a lobster. He reached up and felt his own face. It was a bit tender, but he knew it was nothing compared to how the detective would be soon feeling.

John laughed at the obvious thought process of the DI. “Maybe I should have put sunscreen on him.”

“Now you're talking like he's a child.”

“He is. He's my boy.”

Greg downed more beer. “You're mental.”

“Yeah, I really am,” John agreed cheerfully. “And yours isn't in much better shape.” He gestured towards Mycroft with his beer. “You should've put sunscreen on him.”

Greg rolled his eyes, it was actually quite peaceful just watching the Holmeses enjoy themselves together. They were both taking it in turns to duck under and bring something back. The other seemed to comment on it and either nod or smack it out of their hand.

“Did you ever give Sherlock his wedding gift?” Greg asked curiously.

“Nope. He'd have dug out his microscope. Yeah, I know he had Mycroft bring it.” John sipped his beer. “We would never get him off the ship. You give Mycroft his?”

Greg was thankful for the sunburn as it would hide his blush. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Did he like it?”

“You might say that.” Greg tossed his empty beer bottle back into the small boat and swam off to avoid any more embarrassing questions.

John followed him, but it appeared the doctor didn't want to know anything more anyway. “Mycroft and I found these weird flowers over here,” Greg offered. “He was more fascinated than I've seen him in a long time.”

They swam over to where the water was barely breaking over the reef and climbed out. There, nestled in small crannies, were the flowers Greg had mentioned.

“Huh. They're lovely,” John observed. He began walking along the reef and looked for more. He started when a hand landed on his shoulder. Sherlock had crept up on him.

“What have you found?”

“I guess if they amuse your brother they'll amuse you too.” He pointed at the flowers where they were hidden.

Sherlock crouched down to take a look but didn't reach forward to touch them, for once being sensible.

“Aren't you going to pick one?” John asked as he reached towards one of the flowers himself.

Sherlock slapped his hand away. “It could be poisonous.”

“It's just a flower.”

“And a shark is just a fish.”

Greg came up behind them. “Well, that's a switch, Sherlock urging the doctor to caution.”

“It is indeed,” Mycroft interrupted. “But my brother is right. I've been trying to think for the last hour what it is. It's barringtonia asiatica.”

Sherlock looked back towards the shoreline where larger plants grew. Now that he knew what to look for, he saw fully matured specimens that had grown into shady trees.

John put his hands behind his back. “Right. No-touchy, then.”

“No,” Sherlock agreed.

Mycroft had wandered to the nearest matured specimen and crouched to look at it.

“Bored,” Sherlock suddenly declared. He took a running jump into the area he knew was deep.

John thought he heard someone shouting and looked up. The boat driver was gesturing them back. He couldn't believe it had been 90 minutes already. The doctor yelled, “See you back at the boat.” He jumped in and went to catch Sherlock.

He caught Sherlock's foot and pulled him up to the surface.

“What did I do this time?”

John smiled slightly and indicated the boat with a nod of his head.

“Time to go back, Babe.”

Sherlock made a face. “Well, fudge bunnies!”

The doctor laughed so hard, he almost went under and Sherlock had to hold him up. “Watch your language, young man.”

“You're not my dad!” He said back, with a pretty pout on his face.

“No, your dad is far cooler than I am.”

Sherlock grabbed his hand. “Never, Babe.” He gave him yet another salty kiss.

Together they swam back to the boat. The driver helped them climb in. This time, the four men rode back to the ship rather than being towed. It wasn't until they had to climb the ladder back onto the liner that they realised just how exhausted they were.

The doctor stopped Sherlock from going up first, he didn't want his husband getting to the top and running off. However when the detective made it to the top he fell over the edge and collapsed in a shattered heap at his brother's feet.

In fact, all four of them collapsed to the deck after the ascent.

John rolled over and draped an arm across Sherlock. “Wake me in time for bed.”

Greg snorted as he pulled Mycroft to lay beside him. “That's too soon, mate. I'm staying here for a week.”

Neither of the brothers were stupid, that was known worldwide, so when Sherlock shifted to lay on top of John and Mycroft shifted to lay on top of Greg they should have seen it coming. Their husbands were more comfy than the deck floor after all.

John put up with it as long as he could stand, but eventually even Sherlock's weight grew to be too much. “I'm not a bed, you wanker. Get off.”

“No…” he moaned.

John shook his head and eased the younger man to the floor.

“I'm hungry,” Sherlock suddenly said, he got first to his knees and then used the rail to pull himself upright.

In a very serious tone, Greg asked, “Sherlock? Are you pregnant?”

Mycroft snorted. John fell back to the deck where he had been in the act of standing up.

The detective shrugged. “I don't know.”

“What do you mean you don't know?” He had said that so seriously John was concerned. “You do know where babies come from right?”

He shrugged again. “Deleted it.”

“He can't be serious,” Greg commented.

“I don't know.” It was John's turn to shrug. “I wouldn't put it passed him. It looks like time for a brotherly talk, Mycroft.”

Mycroft scrambled to his feet. “No no no. Father already did that. He was 10.”

“Bit early wasn't it?”

“Sherlock thought it was funny to creep into our parents bedroom…”

“Woah! That's enough.” John also got to his feet, he grabbed Sherlock's hand. “Food. Come on.”

“I want waffles!”

John laughed. “Of course you do, but you can't survive on just waffles, Love.”

“I used to survive on crisps and biscuits.”

“No, actually, you didn't. You stole other food from my plate.”

The detective poked his tongue out as he collapsed, still dripping wet at their usual table.

It was also their usual waiter which appeared. “What are you having today, gentlemen?”

“Waffles,” Sherlock said immediately.

When he went to write Mycroft held up a £50.00 note. “Only bring waffles if one of us three orders it.”

Sherlock sat up straight. “Mycroft! That's not fair.”

John patted his knee. “If my boy eats all of his meal, he can have a waffle for dessert.”

“But I didn't order anything.”

“I know, Babe. I'll order for you.”

Sherlock folded his arms in a scowl, he ignored what the others ordered, he even ignored what John ordered for him. “Why do you get to choose what I eat?”

“Because I said so.”

Sherlock just huffed and stared at the table.

“Do you really want me to change? I can quit taking care of you if you want. You can take care of me for a change. Make me tea and all that.” John smiled at him and gave him a wink.

“I'm not a child. I can eat on my own.” His lips were still curled down.

“I know you can, but I'm just picking something for you that's a little more healthy than waffles.”

“Why? Why do you get to eat all the junk you had earlier, but I don't get to?”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft interrupted his brother's tantrum. “Just shut up.”

Sherlock muttered one last, “I want waffles.” He crossed his arms, determined not to eat anything.

John crossed his own arms, determined that his husband would.

When the food was laid out, Sherlock saw crab, lobster and an array of other creatures. To be honest it looked good, but he wanted what he wanted, not what John wanted him to eat. He just sat back and watched as the others dug in, filling their own plates.

John took out his frustration on the crab legs, taking great satisfaction in the snap and crunch as he broke each one open - it actually worked. He dug out a piece of meat with the tiny fork and drew it through butter and held it to his lips. He licked his lower lip, knowing Sherlock was watching and ate the tiny morsel.

The detective just scowled. He had never been one for trying new foods, well, he'd never been one for food full stop. He stood and walked to the bar. “Coke please,” he said grumpily.

The woman there quickly poured it and placed it on the mat. He knew he wouldn't get waffles, but on principle he was not going to eat anything John told him to. “Have you got any cereal?”

“Sure.”

She disappeared for one moment and pulled out a trolley with a lot of different boxes on top.

Sherlock gravitated towards one, he had no idea what it was called and he didn't care. All that mattered was the picture on the box of sweet, sugary, chocolatey goodness. He snatched it up, ripped it open, and started eating it straight from the box.

She smiled at him, and reached behind the bar. She handed him a bowl and a jug of milk.

He grinned at her. “Thanks.”

Returning to the table, Sherlock sat his bowl down with a smug, self-satisfied look.

John dropped his head to the table in defeat and raised a hand over his head to get the waiter's attention.

“Sir?”

“Bring out half a dozen chocolate chip waffles.”

“It's fine,” Sherlock said directly to the waiter, who now stood there dithering. “I'm good with this.” He knew he had been hungry, but he would have put starving as an over-exaggeration. He was wrong, swimming always made him feel hungry afterwards.

John had to sit on his hands to keep from choking his husband, especially when Sherlock reached over and sampled his lobster. “You just have to get your way, don't you?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed. “If I wanted my own way, I'd be eating waffles.”

He actually enjoyed the lobster, but refused to eat anymore, going back to his cereal, It didn't taste anywhere near weird enough after the lobster as it should have done.

“I just said-”

“It doesn't matter,” Sherlock argued. “This is fine.”

John gave a shrug and surrendered. This was a battle he didn't want to fight today.

“That's it?” Sherlock frowned in puzzlement. “You're supposed to argue. Maybe coax me to eat with a kiss.” His lower lip popped out in a pout.

John just shook his head. “I can't be bothered.”

The detective rolled his eyes. He wasn't much up for an argument either and at least he still had his cereal.

The next thing John knew, he had a pair of feet in his lap. Sherlock had stretched out like a cat, his head lolled back against his chair.

John tensed. Sherlock was deliberately being an annoying shit, but a reaction was what he wanted. Therefore it was what he couldn't do.

The doctor had to change his assessment a few minutes later when Sherlock started snoring. It was so loud, John expected the ceiling to come crashing down.

He shook his head. “God, Mycroft, your brother can be such a jerk.”

“You married him yesterday and you have only just realised this?”

John balled his napkin up and tossed it at the elder Holmes' head.

Greg snatched it out of the air. “He's kind of a cute jerk, though. Just like when my boys used to terrorise their mother all day, then fall asleep, all peaceful like.”

“I guess I'd better get him upstairs.”

Mycroft watched fondly as John pushed his chair back and scooped him out of his own seat, grumbling softly. He continued to watch him as he left the restaurant.

“Gregory, that man has his hands full.”

“He does indeed,” the DI agreed.

Back in their stateroom, John placed his husband on the bed. He had intended to leave him there, the arse, but two long arms drew him down and against his husband's chest.

“Mm, John,” Sherlock murmured in his sleep. “Love you.”

“I should hope so.”

His eyes flickered open and he frowned.

“John? What's up?”

Sherlock jerked back when John pinched him. “I just hauled your ass up here from the dining table, you git!”

His eyes closed again as if to say 'is that it?'

John sighed and walked towards the en suite.

“John!” Sherlock grumbled.

The doctor huffed, but ignored him, closing the bathroom door.

The detective sat up and looked at the closed door. He didn't like being separated from his husband. Hearing the shower go, he decided to join him. When he reached the door he found it locked. Sighing, he turned back to the bed, and then glanced out to look at the balcony. He pulled the curtains to so as to not let in the heat and stepped outside collapsing in one of the recliners.

The sun was low in the sky, just about to dip beneath the horizon. He knew what John would say if he were here - that if you listened, you could hear the ocean boiling where it touched the sun. It was a ridiculous notion, but it made him smile.

Since they'd rejoined the crew on the ship it had continued its journey wherever it was going. As he thought of all the possible places they could be headed he drifted off into first a light doze and then a deep sleep.

John's shower had done much to relieve his irritation. Truth be told, he was rather surprised that Sherlock hadn't broken down the bathroom door to try to join him. As he dressed, his eyes fell on Sherlock's still unopened gift. He picked it up and held it in his hands, now was as good a time as any to give it to him, but where was he? “Sherlock?!”

He opened the little side kitchen, like they even needed one with staff on call 24/7. On the side was a cup of tea, made a short while ago but still warm. John wouldn't have cared if it was stone cold, it was good.

He downed it and pushed open the door to the corridor. “Sherlock?” Sighing, he could feel his irritation creeping up again. He knocked on their neighbours.

“Yup?” Greg called from inside, the door wasn't shut fully.

“Have you seen Sherlock?” He asked. The two men were sat beside the side table with a pack of cards.

“Not since you carried him off.”

The doctor threw himself down in a vacant chair, then he immediately stood again. Sherlock must have gone exploring the ship - he'd no doubt stuck his nose in somewhere it didn't belong, the engine room maybe. John decided to go for a walk, but he was definitely not going to search for his husband. As he stepped out of the stateroom, he slammed the door behind him.

He heard footsteps from inside and then the door opened. “Hey, John, you're a little tense mate, what is it?”

“And Mycroft is swapping his cards with the ones in the deck.”

Greg ignored his cheating husband. Like he even needed to cheat! “That doesn't matter. You okay?”

“Yeah. But Sherlock won't be when I get my hands on him.”

“Need a hand?”

John nodded and Greg called out to Mycroft, “We're going in search of your truant brother. Be back when he's in custody.”

“Have fun,” Mycroft answered. “I'll stay here in case the miscreant returns “

They had barely walked half the deck when Greg stopped the younger man. “Look, mate, he can't do anything, the staff won't let him, Mycroft has fully briefed them on that and what his brother is likely to get up to. There's also nowhere he can go. You're absolutely shattered, why don't you go back to your room, get some kip? Or join us we can play poker, Mycroft is surprisingly easy to beat.”

John made a conscious effort to let his shoulders relax. “Poker sounds good, yeah.”

“Good.” Greg shook his head. “I married the sane one.”

John just huffed as a response and they made their way back to the other couple's room.

Many hours later, Sherlock woke with a yell, a seagull had landed on his foot.

“Huh?” John jerked awake in the seat he had fallen asleep in. “What was that?”

He kicked Greg's foot, jolting him awake too.

“John?”

“Didn't you hear that?”

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

Mycroft grumbled a moan before he awoke too. “9:30.”

Next door, Sherlock leapt up and batted his arms at the bird, it wouldn't go away. In fact, it dove straight at him. “John! Help!” he cried as he tried to hide under the small deck table.

“I heard that,” Mycroft said with a nod.

“Sherlock has got himself into bother again,” Greg smiled. “As if that's new.”

“Yeah, well it'll teach him not to be such a dick.”

Mycroft was shaking his head. “Sherlock's close.” He stood up and went to the glass sliding door and there he was, on the adjacent balcony, hiding under a table for no reason. “John?” Mycroft called. “My brother has been in your room the entire time.”

John looked out at the cowering detective. “Oh, for the love of... Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“I'm hiding from a vicious monster!” the detective called back. “Be careful, it's cunning.”

The seagull flapped its wings and settled on the rail. John chased it away then he jumped over the rail dividing the balconies. “You've been here this whole time?”

Sherlock frowned, confusion evident. “I sat to watch the sunset and I guess I drifted off.”

John dropped his head to his hands and covered his face. He had to get a grip on himself. At least this time, he hadn't treated Sherlock like a dick. “Come on, love. Let's leave these two newlyweds to it.”

John slid their own door open. “Shall we say an hour before breakfast?”

At Mycroft's nod, John pulled Sherlock into their room by the hand.

“John, I don't understand. What were you doing with my brother?”

“Making a complete ass of myself, again,” John sighed and pulled Sherlock into an embrace. “I thought you'd run off while I was in the shower.”

Sherlock's brow was still furrowed. “I tried to follow you but you'd locked the door. Then I remembered you liked the sunsets so I watched it and was obviously more tired than I thought.”

John held Sherlock even tighter. “You wonderful, thing, you.” When he pulled back, he gave his husband a lopsided smile. “You can have all the waffles you want, whenever you want them.”

The detective stared at him for a moment but the deep thought clearly just made Sherlock frown even more. “John, you are really starting to worry me.”

The shorter man ran his fingers through his hair. “Never mind.” He looked around and found the gift where he had left it. “Time to open your present.”

Sherlock's eyes lit up. He unwrapped the package to reveal a small wooden box. Opening it, he narrowed his eyes at what was inside. It was a collection of permanently mounted slides of museum quality. “John...” He looked at his husband. “Is this...”

John grinned. “It's bits of me: hair, skin, um... yeah, that too.” He blushed. Providing that particular sample had been embarrassing to say the least.

“I don't…”

“God you're full of new words this morning aren't you. Now get changed, you git, I want to give you a game of chess before we go up deck.”

Sherlock backed John against the bed and pushed him down. “But I haven't said thank you for my gift. Do we have to go on deck?”

“We have 3 months to say thank you and anyway you don't need to. I'm your husband. I've discussed this with Mycroft and he won't let you have the microscope until we get to the hotel, that's whenever we get bored of this place. Which I highly doubt. And hold on… what am I saying, 3 months? We have the rest of our lives so you will be eating, yes.”

Sherlock blinked as he parsed John's rapid fire rambling. Three things registered with him: 1) no microscope, 2) no sex, 3) stupid food. He dropped his head to John's chest. “You're no fun at all.”

“I'm the bestest fun. I don't want to ruin the rest of our time together by getting completely fucked out right now.”

“Really?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Did you really just say that?”

“Yes, very eloquently, might I add.” John kissed the top of his husband's head. “So, chess?”

“Ok,” Sherlock sighed, “but only because I love you.”

Sherlock looked forward to beating John in 3 moves. However they were interrupted by banging on the door.

“Get out of him, John, I'm hungry!”

The doctor grabbed a pillow and covered his eyes with it. “I am never leaving this room again.” He raised his voice, “Do you hear me Gregory Lestrade! Never! Leaving! Again!”

“Such a shame I pick pocketed your keycard then, isn't it?” He asked casually strolling in.

“Hey, that's my role.”

“Not anymore. Are you two coming up or not I'm starving.”

Sherlock climbed off of his husband and stood. “I get to have waffles, John said so.”

“I did,” the doctor confirmed as he tossed the pillow to the side. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

“That you love me,” Sherlock answered the question that hadn't been asked. “So yes, Gregory dear, we're coming.”

The DI raised his eye brows. “You feeling okay?”

“Gregory, come on!” Mycroft yelled.

The DI gave Sherlock one last look before he left the room, shaking his head. “Gregory dear,” he repeated under his breath, then snorted.

John jumped up from the bed and grabbed Sherlock by the arm. He couldn't resist, the doctor called out, “We're all on our way, Mycroft sweety!”

This time it was Sherlock who snorted.


	6. Sharks and Paintball

After breakfast the four of them headed up to their rooms to change.

“Bored, John!”

“I'm going to shoot your brother,” John groused. At the happy light in Sherlock's eyes, he shook his head. “Not really, you wanker. It's a figure of speech.”

“Why did you say it, then?”

“Because he trapped us on a ship with you! Of course you're bored.” He laughed. “He better have something interesting planned to keep you occupied.”

“And since when has 'I'm going to shoot your brother' been a figure of speech?”

John shrugged. “Since I met Mycroft, I guess.”

“Hey!” Sherlock said around a grin. He pushed him back against the wall and kissed him.

“Sherlock Holmes! Come on, things to do!” The British Government was now banging on their door.

“I'm going to shoot you, Mycie,” Sherlock yelled after the kiss was broken. “What? It's a figure of speech.”

John ducked under Sherlock's arm and headed for the door, opening it. “Come along, 'Lock!”

Mycroft took them back down through the decks so they were back where they had walked the 'plank' yesterday. The older brother grabbed the younger one and jumped into the sea in a bear hug.

John and Greg looked at one another, shrugged and jumped in after the other two men.

The same man from the day before was waiting in the boat again. The four men climbed into the boat at Mycroft's urging.

“Come on then, 'Lock, deduce.”

The detective took a moment to look around and then shrugged.

“Why spoil the fun?”

“So you have no idea what we're doing.” John had grinned broadly as he said it. “Come on, surely the rig and cables gives it away.”

Sherlock looked around again, then smiled. “There are plenty of things you can do with cables like watch TV, or play video games or-”

“Alright brainiac you've made your point.”

The driver of the boat smiled at his co-worker as they worked to get out the parachute and harnesses.

Sherlock hovered over them, taking in their every action. He knew they were going parasailing, of course, and could hardly contain his excitement.

His brother, so far at least, had done an adequate job of finding things to amuse him. But he couldn't help but think that John may have had a say in things.

The rig was obviously for two people, so when asked who was going first, Sherlock leapt in the air yelling, “Me and John!”

Greg shook his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

Sherlock was already attempting to buckle himself in.

“Because I get more bored than you. Purely adequate brains can sit on the boat and watch the sun or whatever it is you do when I'm bored.”

“I'm cutting the cables when you get up there,” Greg threatened.

Sherlock gave him an unconcerned look. “No you won't, John'll be up there with me. You wouldn't do that to him.”

“You're supposed to say, ‘Mycroft's my brother, he wouldn't let you do that to me’,” the eldest of the group said.

Sherlock looked at the older Holmes, “you wouldn't?”

Mycroft pretended to think a moment, then made an exasperated sound. “Of course I wouldn't, you... you moron.” That shocked a laugh out of his brother.

“You know,” John stood with hands on hips, “You aren't investing me with a lot of confidence in this.” He gestured towards the rig. “I'm not sure any of you can be trusted.”

Sherlock spun on his toe and took John's hands in his own.

“I thought we had concluded,” he looked over his shoulder at his brother. “That the British Government would not cut the cable to get rid of me.”

“I suppose.”

“I would find a more subtle way,” Mycroft interrupted the little moment.

“Like poisoning my tea or coffee?” John asked. “At least now I know where Sherlock picked up that little habit.”

Greg spluttered, “What?!”

“Shut up, Jeff,” Sherlock grabbed a beer from the cool box and shoved it into his hands. “Snog my brother or something.”

“I would be delighted to,” the DI said as he wrapped his arms around Mycroft. When he kissed his husband, Sherlock made a gagging sound.

“Get me up in the sky before I get ill,” the detective commanded.

“I think you are more likely to get ill up there.”

“Shut up, John.”

The doctor’s grin was wide. Why was winding up the younger man so much fun?

By this time, Sherlock and John had managed to get into their harnesses. It only took a few minutes to get them hooked into the parasailing chute, then the boat took off and the couple was lifted into the air.

“Oi,” John hissed in his ear. “Stop wriggling.”

Sherlock couldn't help it, he was so close to John yet he couldn't touch him. It was infuriating and they'd only been in the air a matter of minutes.

From where they soared, the ocean appeared to be a thousand shades of blue, and the coral reef was clearly defined. Abruptly, Sherlock started bouncing and pointing, “Look, John! It's a shark!”

“Stop the wriggling,” John repeated, but he looked in the direction the younger man was pointing. He was right. There was a shark, and just behind it there seemed to be another one. “I'm glad the guides know where not to take us!”

“But we were swimming there yesterday,” Sherlock countered.

“Don't remind me!” The doctor gave a shudder. He did not like sharks, not in the least bit. He even refused to watch documentaries about them.

“Maybe we could go down in a shark cage.” Sherlock was bouncing with excitement again.

“Oi!” John attempted to knee the other man, without success. He could imagine the disappointed look on his husband's face. “Maybe you can talk to Greg about it.”

“Can I?” Sherlock was looking at his husband excitedly. “I bet Greg's not afraid of a big fish.”

“Shut it, all right!”

Sherlock seemed to sense John's real apprehension so changed the subject. “Have you worked out where we are yet?” He asked the doctor.

“No!” Came the yelled response. “Do you know?!”

“Somewhere tropical,” Sherlock said with an attempted shrug.

“Well, isn't that just brilliant. You probably deleted all geographies outside of Britain, didn't you?”

Sherlock couldn't help but smile, glad for once John couldn't see him.

“No!” He yelled indignantly. “I deleted all geographies outside London.”

John giggle-snorted. “I think we're being pulled back in,” he shouted.

“It's too soon.” Sherlock kicked his feet in annoyance. “I don't want to go down.”

“It's not as soon as you think it is, 'Lock.”

The tug was insistent.

“But it's amazing. You can see for miles.”

“Are you appreciating the finer things in life?”

“I'll concede that there might possibly be some aspects of this decadent holiday that I am enjoying.” Sherlock let out a sigh as they drew nearer to the boat. The moment their feet touched down on its small deck, he was shouting, “Again!”

“Er, no little brother, it's our go.”

Folding his arms in a sulk, he grabbed his brother's beer and sank into his seat.

Greg and Mycroft were already set and ready to go. As the other couple rose into the air, Sherlock looked around, sighing.

“What is it, Babe?” John grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“I was just wishing for a paintball gun so I could shoot at Mycroft.”

“Sir?”

Sherlock spun to the crew. One man was holding a beer out for the both of them and another had opened a side compartment, separate from where the kit had been. Inside; paint guns.

The detective grinned. “You get a bonus when I get off this godforsaken cruise. Why have you got it?”

“Your brother, sir. Asked us to ensure we had two handy.”

“Were they… distracted when we were up?”

It was the man who had passed them the beers that replied. “Oh, yes, sir, they most definitely were.”

“Gross,” Sherlock turned and buried his face in John's shoulder.

The doctor chuckled. “Are you going to let this chance go to waste? You had best get to shooting before they get out of range.”

The man passed the paintball gun to Sherlock with a wink. “No need to worry about that, Sir. We can halt the cable feed while they're still close in.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Sherlock asked taking the gun. “He's your boss, the British Government, not me.”

“You two are just as much our bosses as they are, sir. Mr. Holmes senior told us to treat you three how we'd treat him.” He pulled out another gun and handed it to the doctor. “And don't worry, we have plenty of ammo,” he lifted another hatch where there were plenty of paintballs in an array of different colours.

Sherlock practically bounced as he loaded up with pink paintballs. John went for the blue.

“I'd challenge you to see who can shoot the best, but...” John pulled off a shot, hitting Greg right in the centre of his chest.

The DI's shout carried surprisingly well on the air, causing all aboard the boat to chuckle.

“But… you're an ex-army captain who had his bad days,” Sherlock finished.

The detective aimed and pulled the trigger 3 or 4 times in a row, he hit Mycroft square on the ass. “Mycroft is so going to kill me.”

“Ha!” John took aim and hit the same three pink splats, covering them with blue.

Mycroft was shouting down obscenities that were carried away on the wind.

“Oh dear,” John sighed. “I just angered the British Government even more than you did.”

Sherlock laughed. “It was his idea to bring them in the first place, hardly our fault he was too busy kissing Greg, is it?”

“I guess not.”

After that, they took turns firing at the two men. Every now and then, they'd give them a break only to start up again when the two men began to relax.

Finally Sherlock got bored. “It's like shooting fish in a barrel - no challenge to it.” He collapsed down on the chair and passed the guns to the crew.

“Go ahead, entertain me,” he ordered, pulling John down onto his lap.

The doctor grinned and kissed him deeply. “How's that?”

“Not bad.” Sherlock looked thoughtful. “You know, I think it would be a bad idea to go back up there.” He pointed towards his brother and Greg.

“I think you could be right, Babe.”

“You know, this isn't as bad as it could have been,” Sherlock whispered so only John would hear. He didn't care that this was only their second day.

“You mean your brother has plenty up his sleeve to entertain you?”

The detective grinned broadly and kissed John again. “Don't you dare tell Mycroft I'm having fun.”

“Never.” The doctor crossed his heart. “Not even under torture.” He already knows, went unsaid.

“Oh, I'm not sure if he'd go that far.”

“I wouldn't be so sure.”

“Their time's up, gentlemen,” one of the crew said, he seemed a little wrong-footed at having to interrupt them.

“Can you leave them up there?” Sherlock asked.

The wrong-footed man rolled his eyes, but his colleague laughed. “Sure, but just a few more minutes.”

Sherlock grinned and kissed John. “He means thanks,” the doctor offered as they broke apart.

“Have you got the diving gear?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, sir, back of the boat.”

“'Lock,” John growled. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking I don't want to be on here when they get back down.”

John looked up at the distant yet obvious paint splattered men. “Good point.”

The couple put on the gear as quickly as they could manage. As Sherlock stepped onto the edge of the boat, he looked back at the crewmen. “Give us a good head start before you bring them down.”

“Of course.” One of them handed Sherlock two bottles of beer and then John, they shoved them in the pockets of their gear, and they also gave John a bottle opener. “Could you at least stay in sight? Maybe those rocks?” He asked, pointing to a different area than the one they'd been in earlier. There were no sharks in this new bit.

Sherlock nodded, then jumped in, spreading his limbs wide to maximise the splash. When he bobbed to the surface, he looked back towards the boat. “Come on, John. There's another reef to explore!”

The doctor shook his head. “Thanks, guys, we owe you one.”

“Just doing our job, sir.”

“No you're not. You've started a war between the most powerful brothers on the planet. You're heroes!”

They chuckled as John jumped off and joined his husband.

Sherlock reached out and took the doctor's hand as soon as he surfaced.

“I'm gonna need that hand to swim.”

“Nope.” The detective rolled so he was swimming on his back and tugging John along.

“You are crazy.”

“Nope.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Nope.”

The doctor sighed. “My crazy husband,” it was actually quite relaxing being pulled along backwards, it meant he could watch Greg and Mycroft being pulled back in and the pair of them had clearly heard Sherlock's commotion when he landed so they knew they were no longer aboard the boat.

At approximately the same time as the couple touched down, the sound of water lapping against rocks became clear. John righted himself, reclaimed his hand and swam the few feet to the exposed surface of the reef.

“This is quite nice,” he commented, offering Sherlock a hand up.”

“Are we out of sight of my brother?”

“Probably best not to be, those guys wanted us to be visible.”

Sherlock growled. “But that's so boring!”

“I don't care. You will do what he says.” John was stern.

“Why?”

“Because I said so and you always do what your husband tells you to.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but then that word hit him right between the eyes - husband. “Yes, husband.” He twisted his hands together, self-consciously. “You really are my husband, aren't you?” He was almost disbelieving.

“Yes, that would be what the ceremony was about.” John slid his hand around the back of Sherlock's head and squeezed. “You like the sound of that - husband.”

Sherlock teeth came out and he chewed on his bottom lip in the way a child would.

“Beer,” Sherlock declared. John pulled them both from his pockets and the bottle opener. He handed the first open one to Sherlock.

It seemed like forever while they sat on the rocks admiring the sun when Sherlock suddenly whispered; “God, I love you,” he had moved closer and was wrapping his arms around the older man.

The detective suddenly blushed at the blatant sentiment and ducked his head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. John kissed him on the cheek, just enjoying the moment.

“Hehe,” Sherlock actually giggled like a girl.

“What?”

“You're speechless!”

“You'll be bloody speechless, Sherlock!”

The two of them spun around to see where the yell had come from. Greg and Mycroft were stripping off their clothes and throwing on diving gear.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand. “What do we do?”

“I don't know, you're the bloody genius!”

The detective leapt to his feet, looking around frantically. They couldn't dive behind the reef, it was too rocky, so they were cut off.

“We need to get out of this little bit and around, and they aren't in the water yet-”

Splash!

“Shit, get in, 'Lock, Go!” He pushed the detective into the deep bit and jumped in behind him.

Mycroft headed towards them with a strong stroke. He covered the distance rapidly, leaving Greg behind.

The DI called out, “Don't kill them until I get there!”

“Sherlock, swim for God’s sake!” John yelled. He would have pushed him if it would have helped their situation.

“Why? What's he going to do? Look at me to death?”

“With Greg helping him, he'll drag you back to the rocks and tickle you.”

“Bollocks!” Sherlock swam for his life, then he stopped. “Wait. Why does it matter to you? Oh! You're ticklish too.”

John grinned. “Something like that.”

“Come on, there's a cave round here.” The detective jerked his head at the rocks.

“What? You must have a nose for caves.” The doctor shifted directions and swam towards where Sherlock had indicated.

“Of course I do, they're mysterious.”

“And so are you, of course, slight problem though.”

Sherlock made a massive splash as he turned around. “What?”

“Let's just say army instinct.”

“Which is?”

“If we go in there, we're trapped.”

Mycroft and Greg were mere yards away.

Sherlock raised his hands in the air, or at least the best he could in the water. “We surrender!”

“That's not good enough, brother-mine. You'll pay this time.'

“Boat,” Sherlock whispered over the water crashing into the rocks.

“You may surrender,” John growled. “I don't.” He grabbed the detective's hand and tugged him towards the boat.

“You get back here you two enormous wankers!” Greg called out, changing directions.

“You'll have to catch us first, Gavin!” Sherlock lowered his voice so only John could hear, “I love doing that. He's so easy.”

“’Wankers’ is too bloody tame!” The DI yelled out.

Their hunters had cut off a long part of the two younger men's journey by doubling back; grabbing both John and Sherlock.

The four of them bobbed in the water.

Greg's scowl fled his face as he started laughing. “Now that we caught 'em, what do we do with them?”

Mycroft tried to stay angry, but his husband's laughter was infectious and he joined in.

John and Sherlock exchanged looks, not trusting this new development.

They took the opportunity to wriggle free and race to the boat, this time with John further ahead then the youngest of the four, for a surprising change.

John climbed aboard the boat first, then turned and gave Sherlock a hand up. When the detective clambered aboard, he lunged towards where the paintball guns were stored, tossing one to John and turning his own towards the approaching men.

“We need assurances before you can come aboard,” Sherlock called out.

By the time Greg and Mycroft had reached the edge of the boat they were shattered and puffing for breath.

“What sort of reassurances?” The DI asked.

Sherlock glanced at John. “There will be no retaliation for the paintball incident. None at all.”

“You're perfectly safe, brother-mine.”

“Not good enough.” The detective shook his head. “There will be no physical attacks, practical jokes, or mock slavery.”

John looked at him with disbelief. “Mock slavery. You've got to be kidding.”

“Nope, it's what Mycroft used to do to me as a kid.”

“Sherlock you locked Redbeard in my bedroom for a whole week while I was at Cambridge, only going in to feed him as much food as he could eat. Guess where he did his mess? So yes, I made you my slave for the weekend.”

John clocked Sherlock on the back of the head. “You can't treat animals like that!”

“I was a kid!”

“Yeah, and you'd probably do the same thing now,” the doctor groused.

“Oh, come on!” Greg hit the side of the boat with his fist. “I'm getting waterlogged here.”

“Look, I stayed with him for most of the day, but Mummy insisted on me spending boring time with my tutor.”

“And I'm still waterlogged!” The DI yelled.

“You could at least have cleaned up after him,” John pointed out.

“Why would I have wanted to do that? Boring. And anyway, that's was the whole idea.”

“To alleviate the smell, if nothing else.”

“I just ignored-”

“Oh, for Christ's sake!” The DI started to climb the ladder into the boat. He swore as a paintball hit him square in the chest. “That bloody hurts you great giraffe!”

He scurried up the ladder, swung over the side and rugby tackled his husband's brother over the other side.

John ran to watch and Mycroft swam around the edge of the boat, laughing the whole time.

Sherlock came up, spluttering, his hair caught in Greg's grip. “Let go!”

“How's this for retaliation?! Hmm?” The DI dunked Sherlock back under the water.

Mycroft swam up to him and gave his husband a salty kiss. “Enjoying yourself, Gregory?”

“Yes, Love, I am.” He let the detective up for a breath of air, then shoved him back under.

John launched himself over the side, bombing in next to them. He moved to intercept Sherlock's 'attacker' but Mycroft got there first.

The government official cut John off when he tried to swim around him. He managed to shove the doctor under, but John grabbed his foot and tugged him beneath the surface with him. It was the blond who surfaced first and managed to hold Mycroft under at the same time.

Greg and John laughed as they looked at each other.

“John, I'll let yours up if you let mine.”

The doctor nodded. “Okay.”

When Mycroft splashed to the surface he didn't look impressed, John, however, was. “The British Government beaten by a doctor!”

“I let you win,” Mycroft huffed, breathless.

The doctor reached towards him to shove him back under.

“Fine! You beat me!” Mycroft shouted and then spluttered as John shoved him back under.

Greg pulled the detective close. “Let him go or Sherlock is going to be seriously unimpressed.”

The doctor compiled, raising his hands over his head.

“Sirs,” one of the men called from the boat, “we really need to get back to the ship.”

Greg was the first to the ladder, muttering 'waterlogged' under his breath.

“Him next,” Mycroft ordered, pointing at his brother.

Sherlock seemed a little dazed at being under the water on and off for the last few minutes so actually obeyed the older Holmes.

Greg grabbed him as soon as he was flat footed and pulled him over, placing his arm around his neck.

When the others joined them Mycroft kept John out of the way; a mere raised hand doing the trick as he pointed at the bench at the back.

John sat on the bench of his own free will. Sherlock had to be wrestled there and forcefully sat down by the DI.

“I really don't see what the problem is, big brother. You had planned to do the same to us.”

“You know, he has a point, Mycroft,” John tried.

In answer, the government official turned around and pointed to his pink and blue backside. It didn't have its intended effect. John and Sherlock began giggling uncontrollably. When Greg joined in, Mycroft shot him a glare.

“You have to admit, Love, it is kind of funny.” Then the DI lost it and doubled over laughing.

They all jolted as the boat sped off in the direction of the liner.

“I'm hungry,” Sherlock complained.

Sherlock had snuck off in the middle of the night and located his microscope. Under the lens, he was looking at several of John's wonderful hairs from the collection of slides his husband had given him as a wedding gift. Some of the hairs were golden, some silver. They were all perfect because they were John's.

He couldn't believe the last few days. Not only had his brother got married, he had. And he and Mycroft were like they had been 25 years ago… they played together, they mucked around. Sherlock couldn't help but think the whole situation was too good to be true.

As he switched the slide out for one containing a bit of John's skin, he heard a noise. His husband was stirring. Sherlock smiled to himself, but didn't look up from the microscope. His smile widened a few minutes later, though, when the doctor shuffled into the room and came over to drop a kiss to the top of his head.

“Morning, Love.” John sat down in a nearby chair with a yawn.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Enough.”

“How much is enough?”

“About 6 hours. More than normal.”

John ran his hand up Sherlock's arm. “Far more than normal. We had a tiring day yesterday, though, so I kind of expected it.”

“Hmm.” The detective leant into John's touch, actually looking away from the microscope. “It could have been more tiring. We didn't even have evening sex.”

The doctor laughed. “We'll both survive. I'll make it up to you later.”

Sherlock grinned, “You’d better.”

“So what have we found out about my hair?” John asked, cupping the younger man's cheek.

“That you're going grey.”

“Oi!” John slapped his husband's shoulder. “Would you rather I dyed it?”

Sherlock gave a dramatic shudder. “Don't you dare do such a thing. Your hair is perfect like it is. It sparkles in the light.” Realising what he had just said, the detective looked away and blushed.

“Ah, the little boy is growing up all sentimental.”

“I'm not a little boy,” Sherlock grumbled, sliding his chair back from the table he was at and lunging at the doctor for a kiss.

“If I was a little boy, I wouldn't do this,” Sherlock declared as he did something to make the doctor moan.

“Very nice, I'm sure,” Mycroft commented dryly from where he had appeared, unnoticed, in the doorway.

Sherlock kissed the side of John's head before lunging at his brother and grabbing him in a bear hug. “Very nice indeed,” he murmured.

Mycroft gave a little laugh and extricated himself from the embrace. “Are you terribly bored, baby brother? Only, I thought you would be by now. If you are...”

“If I am what?” The detective asked when his brother didn't continue.

John came up behind him and pulled him back into his chest, his head fell back and sat on the older man's shoulder.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's apparent denseness. “Bored, Sherlock. Are you bored?”

“Oh.” The younger Holmes frowned. “I suppose I should be.” He looked at John. “Why am I not?”

“Because you're having fun, Babe,” John explained.

“There, Myc. I'm having fun. So, not bored.” He kissed John for the fun of it.

He shook his head. “Well, I'm going to go and find the person that makes me not bored.”

Except, when he reached his room Greg wasn't there.

Mycroft's bottom lip popped out, but he quickly sucked it back in. He would not pout like his baby brother. That would be completely undignified. He stepped back out into the corridor to be greeted by the sight of his husband sauntering towards him.

“Good morning, Myc,” Greg said cheerfully. “I was talking to the excursions expert about what we might do today. We came a long way last night. We have a whole new island to explore. This one even has some old ruins we could investigate. They told me they were normally off limits to visitors, but, well, you're you.”

“I am indeed me,” Mycroft agreed.

“Well, I guess this one is going to want waffles,” John said, pulling the younger man along with him. “He'll need the energy.”

Sherlock ate no less than three waffles, much to everyone's amusement, one plain, one chocolate and one strawberry.

“'Lock, you're going to need a new wardrobe at this rate,” John teased.

“Nonsense. I have you to help me keep the weight off.”

“Oh god,” John palmed his face and snatched the new waffle from Sherlock's plate stealing a bite.

The detective pouted and leant forward to snag a bit with his teeth whilst John was still holding it.

“You're kind of like a puppy, Babe. You do these things that should be really, really annoying, then you look at me with those eyes and you just seem so... cute.”

Sherlock hummed a happy tune as he chewed.

“Did you just call my baby brother a puppy?” At John's frowned nod, Mycroft continued. “Then you're calling me a dog?”

Greg pulled Mycroft onto his lap. “No, he's not. You'd have to be all grown up and old for that and that's impossible because I'm still a kid.”

The elder Holmes gave a chuckle. “You're certainly youthful when it comes to, hmm, more interesting activities.”

“You see, John,” Sherlock complained, “this is why they should have never started dating. They're disgusting.”

“Pot, kettle, brother-mine.”

It was then Sherlock realised he was also on his husband's lap. How did he get there? He wrapped his arms around his doctor and held on tight. “Love you, husband,” he whispered.

John looked up at him, “are you feeling okay? Only the sentiment has been more regular than normal.”

“It must be left over from the wedding.” Sherlock sniffed. “I'm sure I'll be back to insulting your intelligence soon enough.”

“That's okay, Babe. When you say 'tiny little brain' I hear 'I love you.'“

“That's not what I hear.” Greg grinned. “I hear, 'punch me.'“

“Oh, I hear that all the time.”

“So can we do stuff, brother-mine, before these tiny little brained animals do something to us that is non-reversible.”

“God, now you're going to say it all the time.” John buried his face against Sherlock's chest.

“Tiny little brain, tiny little brain, tiny little...”

John hushed him by kissing him.

“Actually, Gregory has planned the day,” Mycroft said, amusement tingeing his voice. “We're going to explore some ancient ruins, and if I am correct about which island this is, there will be some archaeologists on hand.”

Sherlock was off John's lap like a shot.

When the three of them found him, he was routing through one of the drawers in his room.

“Where are my orange trunks?” He yelled, sensing the doctor behind him.

“Eager, are we? And why trunks for a land excursion?”

“Well, we'll have to get to the island somehow.”

“Yeah, you git. By boat. Greg told me there's a dock there.”

Sherlock pouted. “I still might want to swim. So where are my orange trunks?”

John sighed and went to his side of the room where his clothes were in the closet. He pulled out another orange pair and threw them at him.

“And, brother dear, there's a ship wreck, 50 metres from the island, so trunks are a good idea.”

Sherlock's eyes, already showing his excitement, lit up even further. “Is it a pirate ship?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Actually, it is. The archaeologists are exploring it as well as the ruins. If you're fortunate, we might even see some gold doubloons.”

The detective was off again, struggling into his trunks over his pants as he went.

“I guess we'd better get after him,” the DI said with an eye roll. “Could you imagine him at like 70? He would still be running around like a loony.”

John looked at Sherlock's ass as he ran down the corridor. “He'll keep me on my toes, that's for certain.” A pensive look came over his face. “I wonder what we will be doing, then.”

“You'll be helping my brother raise bees, no doubt, at the Sussex cottage.”

John laughed. “As for keeping me on my toes. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

When they caught up with the youngest member of their group this time he was already waiting on the boat beside the liner.

John smiled. His husband's excitement was contagious. “I suppose you want to skip the ship wreck and go straight to the island.”

Sherlock glared at him.

“Right. Shipwreck, first, then.” John clambered onto the boat and hugged his husband. “You're incorrigible.”

“But you love me anyway.”

Sherlock had insisted on changing into his diving gear while the boat was on its way. So the others felt duty-bound to copy him.

Before the boat had even slowed and anchored Sherlock had thrown himself off the side.

John had to learn how to scuba dive with Sherlock a while ago for a case. The doctor wondered when Mycroft and Greg had learned or when they even found the time.

Seeming to read his thoughts, Mycroft told him, “We took scuba lessons before the wedding.”

Greg watched as Sherlock disappeared beneath the surface. “I'm surprised he has the patience for it, seeing as you have to ascend slowly or you get the bends.”

“Oh, that part annoys him, but even Sherlock can't defy the laws of physics.” John slipped on his mask and jumped in.

“I don't think either of them realise how shallow this area is,” Mycroft said with a small chuckle.

“You said half the ship was in the shallow mud the other half was in deeper…”

“I know, but… maybe we should take them to see the titanic one day?”

“We're not allowed-”

Mycroft grabbed his husband around the neck before kissing him on the nose. “I'm allowed to do whatever I want.”

“Fine, but I'm not going down in one of those tiny subs,” Greg informed him seriously.

“Oh, the subs you see going down there on telly don't actually accommodate passengers.”

“Good.”

“But I have access to one that does.”

Greg's laugh was nervous and rather than replying, he jumped in after the others.

“How long have we got?” Mycroft asked.

“Today? You have until late afternoon, sir.”

“Brilliant, great work, Gerry.”

Mycroft swam until he was directly over the ship, then he slipped on his mask and dove under. The water was perfectly clear and he could see directly to the bottom not 15 yards below. Maybe it wasn't deep, but the scuba gear would allow them to explore for quite some time without resurfacing. He saw Greg, who waved at him and gave him a thumbs up. His brother and John, however, were out of sight. He hadn't expected Sherlock to stick around, he would, without a doubt be digging up things inside what was left of the wreckage and John, John would be with him.

Greg swam over and took Mycroft's hand, pointing, probably in the direction the other two men had gone. Together, they swam down and through a hole in the derelict's side.

Just as Mycroft had expected, Sherlock was poking his mask into every crook and cranny, looking for old pirate treasure. The younger Holmes held up an old wooden box and peered inside before dropping it and moving on.

Mycroft just stopped to watch, not letting go of the DI's hand. His brother was entertaining himself for a change, his passion for curiosity quelled by having John at his side as they routed through everything they could find.

A bright blue hand sized fish swam around Sherlock's head and he tried to chase it away with his hand. The fish would not be intimidated, however, and followed him everywhere he went.

John pulled a professional waterproof camera out of a pouch at his waist and took several pictures. He was close enough that the flash from the camera would ensure the brilliant colour of any pictures he took.

“Eww, is that a bone?” John's voice was crackly through the little speaker in his ear.

Sherlock shrugged and waved it around. “Dog bone.”

“How is that any less disgusting?”

“You've seen much worse, army doctor. Like this.” He held up what looked like a handful of pebbles.

John swam closer. “Finger bones. Disgusting.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Was that a technical term, Doctor? I wonder how the archaeologist missed them.”

“They didn't,” the voice crackled in his ear again and he literally span around, Mycroft was swimming towards them.

“I told them to leave everything. Told them my little brother could do a damn sight better job than they ever could.”

Sherlock grinned, though it was hidden behind his mask. “Of course I can. I'm brilliant!”

Mycroft chuckled and handed him a bag to put the bones in. He had several such bags in a pouch at his belt.

After depositing the bones, Sherlock started looking around once more. “John! Come see!” He had found the proverbial treasure chest. Well, a small box, anyway. It was filled with coins and chains of gold.

“And you said I could never be a pirate!” Sherlock's voice was a yell and the other three closed their eyes, wincing.

“Babe, calm down, you nearly deafened all three of us.”

“What does that matter? I'm a pirate!”

“You don't sound like one, apart from the sheer volume,” John pointed out.

“Argh! Yo, ho, ho! There be treasure here!” The sometimes pirate handed his treasure to John and went back to exploring.

The doctor allowed himself to drift back to the other two and then realised they'd be no whispering down here. It didn't matter how loud or quiet he spoke, Sherlock wasn't going to miss it.

He shrugged. He wasn't going to say anything he hadn't said before. “Your brother is a nutter, Mycroft.”

“We were born to the same family, John. I didn't have any say in the matter. But, you chose to marry him. What can we deduce about you?”

The doctor chuckled happily. “That I'm a complete nutter too.”

Sherlock twisted around and looked at the two men. “I can hear you, you know!”

“So can I,” Greg added.

“Why do you care? You said to me just yesterday we were mad.”

The DI tilted his head on one side. “I guess I did.”

Mycroft looked at his watch, they were reaching the no-decompression time limit. “We have five minutes before we need to surface, 'Lock.”

The detective sighed, but didn't argue. There were some limits that couldn't be pushed. Just as his brother called time, he wrapped his long fingers around a sword. Swimming with the others, he surfaced, his prize in hand.

John pulled his mask off, grinning, “You really are a pirate now, 'Lock!”

He waved the sword around. It was practically whole, no chips or dents.

“Can I keep it?” He asked John.

The doctor hesitated. “Probably not, 'Lock. It should be in a museum.”

Sherlock's face fell.

John took his husband's free hand. “Just think. It will inspire whole new generations of pirates. All because of you.”

This mollified him somewhat. “I suppose,” Sherlock said dubiously.

“I'll have an exact reproduction made, brother dear,” Mycroft offered.

Greg tapped Mycroft on the shoulder. “Can I have one too?”

Mycroft looked between them.

“Well, I was going to suggest giving them the exact replica if he wants to keep it.”

Sherlock kicked hard and swamped his brother as he tried to give him a hug. Greg had to duck under the water to miss getting hit by the flailing sword.

“Mycroft, you indulge him too much,” John said with a smile.

“They're so stupid I doubt they would even notice.”

“That's not what I meant.”

Mycroft looked down at his brother who still hadn't let him go.

“Does it matter?” Mycroft asked. “So long as I can make him happy. I have time to make up for.”

Greg shoved his arm between the two brothers and wormed his way into Sherlock's place. “See, that's why I love you. You're so sentimental”

Sherlock pouted. “I was busy!”

Mycroft wiggled free. “Pass it here.”

Maybe one day, not so long ago, Sherlock would have hesitated, but today he didn't.

“I'll swim back over with it and give it to my guy. He'll keep it safe. I promise.”

Sherlock watched Mycroft deliver the sword, then re-join the waiting trio. “I want to swim ashore, Myc, not take the boat.”

“So I assumed,” Mycroft said as he headed towards the distant shoreline. “Come along!”

John couldn't believe how much things had changed. 10 years ago Sherlock had been an arse practically all the time and now…

“Now I'm not,” Sherlock said as he began to swim alongside his husband.

“Hey, 'Lock,” John called as he switched to a dog paddle. “What am I thinking now?”

The detective rolled over and swam on his back. “How naughty! But it'll have to wait until later tonight.”

“Oi, you two!” Greg yelled.

“Behave!” Mycroft added.

“Goddammit, I actually love it here,” Sherlock grabbed hold of John and kissed him, the only thing between them; salty water.

“Are you going to give up detecting and become a beach bum, then?” John gave him another kiss. “We could build a little grass shack and have Mycroft drop off supplies for us.”

Sherlock gave it serious consideration for all of two seconds. “Nope, but maybe I'll have him give us an island for our anniversary.”

John smiled softly and went back to his normal stroke, intent on catching up with the other two.

“You can have this one, 'Lock!”

“No thank you, Myc,” Sherlock called out. “I hear it's infested with archaeologists. I want a nice deserted island.”

“I can get rid of them, Sherlock, if that is your only complaint.”

John looked at the youngest of the group and pulled him to his feet as they were shallow enough to stand. “Is he serious?”

The detective squinted in his brother's direction. “I don't... probably.”

“Bloody Holmeses!” John walk up onto the beach. “How did I get mixed up with,” he waved his hand around, “rich people, anyway? When we met, you couldn't even afford the flat.”

“You are rich people, John. We're married now.”

“No, he's rich. We're broke.”

“Oh. I must not have mentioned it. Mycroft released my trust the day we got married.”

“Which means?”

“I have just as much money as he does. I think,” he glanced to Mycroft. “Is that right?”

“That's right. It's just the power of the government I get to keep to myself.”

“Welcome to the ranks of the obscenely rich,” Greg said, reaching out to shake the stunned doctor's hand.

“No, no, no. Sherlock's the rich one.”

The detective rolled his eyes. “Don't be absurd. We're married. The money's ours. If I were broke, you'd insist your money was mine. It can't just work one way.”

“I'm not broke.”

“Nope. Rich. I believe we covered that. Come on, John. There are ruins to explore”

“Your brother just basically gave you an island and you're running off?”

“No.” He grabbed Mycroft in a still wet, if slightly sturdier hug and then took off.

“Now I'm running off.”

John shifted into a jog and ran after the detective as he so often found himself doing. Before long, he found himself at his husband's side looking over a large archaeological excavation. A tall blonde woman was walking their way with a smile on her face.

“Mycroft Holmes?” she asked. “The ship radioed ahead and let us know you were coming.”

“Sherlock Holmes, actually. Mycroft is back that way.” He flung an arm back in the direction from which they had come. “And this is my husband, John Watson. Oh! John Watson-Holmes.”

The doctor clipped him on the back of the head.

“Oh. Right. How dare I forget, my apologies.”

“Right, well, we need to see Mycroft Holmes before we can-”

“You'll give my brother whatever he wants!” Mycroft yelled from by the rocks.

“Oh, yes, Sir.” The woman turned back towards the dig, then back to face Sherlock and John. “Would you like a tour of the site? I can explain everything as we go.”

“No need.” Sherlock waved her away and stepped carefully into the dugout area. He was far more careful than he would have been at a crime scene.

“He really is spoiling you.”

Sherlock looked towards the doctor as he joined him in the pit. Then he glanced at his brother. “He is. And I have no idea why.”

John snaked out his arm and snagged Sherlock's hand. “I think he's wanted to do it for years. Now he can.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock crouched and looked at an interesting bit what appeared to be stone just barely sticking from the excavation site's wall. He touched it carefully. “Miss... whatever your name is, you've missed something. Isn't this a bit of pottery?”

She spun around, “I can assure you, Mr. Holmes, we haven't missed-” her eyes fell to where Sherlock was pointing from his kneeling position.

The doctor dropped a hand on Sherlock's head. “Nice one, Babe.”

The detective chuckled. “Thank you, Doctor John Watson-Holmes. I do try.” He stood and brushed his hand on his swim trunks. “Oh, look over there!” He was off again, stepping carefully over a deeper portion of the dig.

Greg and Mycroft sat in some conveniently located chairs and watched as the other two men explored the site.

“God, what I wouldn't give for a beer,” the DI said as he stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles.

“Oi!” Mycroft yelled, very un-Holmesian.

Everyone except his brother and John looked up.

“My husband's thirsty.”

A man off to the side of the dig lifted an old tarpaulin, underneath was a number of cool boxes.

Within moments, Greg was happily sipping his surprisingly cold beer. “You know,” he said between sips, “I should really object to this flagrant abuse of power. As an officer, I mean.” He took another sip, then gave his husband a cheeky grin. “Well, sod that idea.”

“You love it really.” Mycroft popped the cap off his own beer and took a sip. “My little brother rolling around in the dirt. It's like nothing's changed.”

“He do this often, then, when you were kids?”

“You have no idea. If there was an open pit of dirt or, better yet, mud, he gravitated to it. Mummy used to have to hose him off before letting him in the house.” His face grew pensive.

Greg placed a hand on his husband's thigh. “About your mum, I'm sorry she didn't come around.”

He shrugged. “I knew she wouldn't.”

“Then why'd you let her come?”

His gaze flickered to Sherlock who had no idea about the topic of their conversation. “Sherlock had to give her a chance. He may not know that, but deep down, it made it make sense for him.”

“Ah.” Greg downed the rest of his beer. “I suppose he can let it go now.”

Mycroft nodded. “Precisely. 'Lock! Have you found something else?”

A small group of students had gathered around the detective and John. Sherlock didn't answer. He was too caught up in what they were looking at. John waved and gave a nod.

The pair stood and made their way over to them, both eloquently jumping into the hole, for once Sherlock wasn't bragging or making out he was invincible to anybody who even looked at him. He was being normal, where he knelt with a brush, slowly dusting away.

Bit by bit, a small area was cleared away, revealing another piece of pottery... no an intact clay pot. There was a clear pattern on it that had the students and lead archaeologist chattering excitedly.

“Mycie!” Sherlock complained.

“What is it, little brother?” He was watching Sherlock fondly.

“All these… things are getting in the way. It's obvious there's stuff beneath us, but all these hobnail boots are stamping away and probably breaking it all!”

“Everyone! Out!” Mycroft shouted.

At the same time, John whispered into Sherlock's ear, “You can't call people things, Babe.”

“It's better than what I was really thinking, the incompetent idiots.” He looked up at his brother. “Surely more responsible individuals can be found to excavate this site.”

“I'll see to it, baby brother.”

“Don't worry about it,” he responded, deciding on the spot. He stepped forward, grabbed Mycroft's hand like he was a toddler and tugged him towards the most recent clay pot hole. “You can help!”

John chuckled, then turned to Greg. “Didn't I see you drinking a beer earlier?”

“Yeah, right over there.” The DI pointed across the excavation. “Why don't we make ourselves at home and get one. I've got a feeling we could be here for a while.”

It took almost minimal persuasion to get Mycroft on his knees and joining in. They dug and dusted until they pulled out all the objects in their immediate vicinity.

“Myc!” Greg called. “When do we have to get back to the boat?”

The government official looked around with a frown. He found he didn't want to leave. He was actually having quite a good time with his brother.

“Not yet!”

Sherlock pulled out what looked to be a square tile about 12” by 12”. “It's actually whole. I mean, they always find these things, but they always have chips and scratches…”

“Excuse me, 'Lock. I need to make some arrangements.”

The detective frowned at his brother. “Can't it wait?”

He shook his head. “I'll be back shortly. I need to arrange a place to stay for the night. Maybe arrange a BBQ on the beach.”

“You mean we can stay here?”

Mycroft actually dropped his hand in his brother's hair, something he hadn't found himself doing for a long time.

“Yes, little brother, if you want to, we can stay here. But it means I have to go and arrange it.”

Sherlock bit his lip, but nodded. “Ok, but don't be too long. Please?” He sounded oddly young.

“I won't.” Mycroft walked over to where the other two men were sat. “Gregory, I was going to make arrangements to stay on the island for the night, but...” He looked back at his brother. “Would you mind very much seeing to it?”

“Um… I would Myc, but I don't think I have as much of the persuasive power as you do.”

John laughed. “It's alright, mate, I'll come with you. All you have to do is mention his name and you can do practically anything.”

“Sherlock couldn't dig without his say so.”

“Yeah, but we got into Baskerville with just his ID. I mean, he doesn't even look like mine.” He was watching Sherlock dig, his foot tapping absently behind him.

Greg shook his head. “That seems like ages ago. Do you remember the look on his face when he saw me at the inn?”

“He was positively livid, called you his handler as I recall.”

“Yep.”

“Tell me the truth, you had a secret crush on Mycroft even then.”

Greg blushed, then stood. “Let me just go make those arrangements.”

“Hey, Greggie, wait up!” John called after the quickly disappearing DI.

“Really?” Greg turned to the doctor. “Did you really go there?”

Mycroft laughed, this holiday was clearly not just bringing out the child in his brother, he went and knelt back down beside the most recent hole.

“Aren't you-”

“Gregory's taking care of it with your doctor. I figured I would stay with you, make the most of whatever light we have left.”

“You know, Gregory had a secret crush on me for a long while.”

“Secret? It was fairly obvious to me and John.”

“Just me who remained oblivious then.”

“Oh yes. That's something I don't hear every day.”

“Don't get used to it, brother-mine.”

“There is something I missed,” Sherlock offered in exchange for Mycroft's admission. “How did he ever get you to agree to go out with him?”

“Persistence. He phoned my office every other day asking me on a date. My Gregory couldn't be intimidated into stopping. I finally had to give in and then I kissed him and never looked back.”

“Yeah, well, I just got into bed with mine. He woke up and went mad. I didn't see him for 3 days. When he came back, he got into my bed.”

Mycroft chuckled. “I suppose you thought you had got it wrong and he really was straight.”

“Mmm. Turns out he thought the whole thing was an experiment at first. Thankfully, he figured out it wasn't.”

“He is a rather intelligent goldfish, just like Gregory.”

“I wouldn't let them hear you say that. John went mad when I said it by accident a while ago. He had a good sulk for hours.”

Sherlock paused the conversation turning back to the digging, they were lifting another few inches of mud and dirt to see if Sherlock's assumptions really were true.

After some time, what appeared to be an ancient hearth was revealed. That explained the presence of the tile and pottery.

Sherlock looked at his brother in triumph. “I knew we'd find it here.” He finally noticed the waning light and sighed. “I suppose we'll be forced to stop for the night.”

“Well, our husbands have planned us a beachside dinner, no doubt. We should probably attend.”

“Mmm, there won't be waffles though.”

Mycroft tilted his head on the side, “no I guess not.”

“But we could find a tomb or something.”

“Sherlock, this isn't Egypt.”

“So? We must be near it. People die all over the place. The hearth suggests a home…”

“Fine, but after we eat. We will not disappoint John and Gregory, not after the effort they surely have gone to for us.”

Sherlock pouted, but relented, at least for the moment.

He stood up with his brother and then looked around at the dimming light.

“We can't do it in the dark, though.”

“We can if I get the white lights set up.”

“Good.” With one last look around, Sherlock climbed from the low pit. “I'll get there first!” he shouted as he took off towards the beach.


	7. Fire and Lava

John looked up from the pit where the fire was burning when he heard footfalls. “Hello, husband! Did you have fun playing in the dirt?”

Sherlock had made a point of sitting in the dirt as he got out of the hole, so he knew it had stuck to his damp shorts. He fell into John's lap, covering the blond in dirt, giggling the whole time.

“Oi!” The doctor tried to shove Sherlock off his lap, but the detective refused to be moved. John surrendered, knowing it was pointless - he was covered in dirt now, anyway. “You owe me for that,” he complained.

“Really, doctor? What do I owe you?”

“Hmm, at least 20 kisses.”

Sherlock deliberately moved his face away so John couldn't reach him.

He snuck a hand forward as Mycroft joined them, to pluck a sausage from the square frying pan Greg was using, his hand was slapped away by his brother.

“Don't be an idiot, 'Lock, that'll be bloody hot.”

John chuckled and stole one of the kisses he was owed while Sherlock was distracted.

The detective glared at him. “No fair!”

“All is fair in love and war, Babe.”

“Then I choose war!” He declared not really understanding what John had said.

Mycroft looked up at his brother who was stamping his foot in a temper tantrum.

“You know actual men don't sulk, babe,” John said, reaching up and pulling him back down and into his lap.

“But if it bothers you so much, you don't have to kiss me ever again. I can survive without them.” John didn't mean a word of it, he was just practicing his skills of manipulation. It worked. Sherlock grabbed his husband's face and kissed him thoroughly.

The doctor waited for him to let go before showing his grin. “I win,” he whispered.

“John, have you got the rolls?”

“Yeah, I think I put them in with the beer.”

Mycroft watched the three men for a bit in silence. How had this become his life? He didn't know, but he was grateful for it. He reached over and leant against Greg's side, careful not to disturb his cooking.

“Aww, you feeling a little left out, husband dear?” Greg whispered.

Mycroft pouted, then nibbled on his ear.

“Not at all.”

Sherlock looked around the beach, noticing the two very large tents that had been set up nearby. “I refuse to sleep in a tent.”

John frowned. “Why?”

“We're in a temperate region, the nights are mild, there are no clouds in the sky and I want to see the stars.”

John gaped for a moment. “I thought you-”

“I've already said once that I can still appreciate them.”

“What's the closest planet to us, little brother?

Sherlock frowned. “Earth?”

Greg doubled up laughing.

“I don't know, he has a point,” John said with a smile on his face. “We are sitting on it, after all.”

The detective blinked, trying to look innocent. “We are? Oh. That's why dirt is sometimes referred to as earth. Sorry, Myc,” Sherlock offered. “It looks like you were wrong. Again.”

Mycroft was rooting through one of the cool boxes for beer.

“I wasn't wrong, Sherlock, you just misinterpreted my question.”

Sherlock ignored that. He stood and found a stick and began poking at the fire, shifting bright, glowing coals around. “I wish we had some marshmallows.”

“Not before real food,” John responded, rubbing his foot up the back of his legs.

“You don't know how to have fun,” he complained and then realised something he should have noticed before. “Does this mean we can play in the pit all night?”

“Play?!” John leant forward and tapped his husband on the leg. “You are being careful with the artefacts you're finding.”

“Your concerns are unfounded, John. In this case, I trust my brother's so called play more than I do the archaeologists ostensible work.”

“We found a hearth.”

Greg looked up from the sausages. “Really?”

The detective/archaeologist nodded.

“Sherlock seems to think we'll find the rest of what's left of the house all on our own.”

“Well, these two can help if they really want.”

Greg chuckled. “I rather enjoyed my earlier supervisory position over you. John?”

The doctor considered. “I might like to try my hand at it. It can't be more complicated than field surgery.”

Sherlock seemed to genuinely consider then shrugged. “Wouldn't know, haven't found the time in my life where I've needed to do field surgery,” he looked down at John. “I hope I never have to.”

“You probably could, though, if I talked you through it.” John noticed Sherlock's deepening frown. “What?”

“Promise me you won't ever get shot or stabbed or poisoned or...”

“'Lock! The only time I've ever been poisoned, you did it. I sincerely doubt it will ever happen again.”

“You didn't promise.”

John pulled Sherlock down and into a hug. “I promise to try.”

Sherlock subconsciously pushed his hand up John's shirt to feel the wound in his shoulder. “I'm so glad I didn't see you when this happened,” he said quietly.

John could have taken that the completely wrong way, but he knew what Sherlock meant and hugged him tightly. “I'm glad you didn't see it either.”

Greg and Mycroft exchanged glances, then looked back at the sausages cooking in the skillet, trying to give the other two men a semblance of privacy.

John continued, “But I don't hate that it happened anymore. It ended up in me being here with you.” He leant forward and kissed his husband. “I could never regret that.”

“Grubs up,” Greg suddenly said.

The two youngest were knocked out of their awkwardness and looked over at them. John smiled even as Sherlock's gaze fell back to him. He wrapped his arms around John's neck.

Mycroft lifted the beaten kettle from where it sat at the edge of the fire in a bed of coals and poured water into four metal cups. Adding tea bags, he let it steep. The whole thing seemed rather surreal to Greg, who had never pictured the British Government in anything but pristine conditions.

“No need for such surprise, Gregory. We used to camp a lot as children, despite out family's social status. Father thought it built character.”

“All it built was family arguments.”

Mycroft looked across at his brother. “She never meant it, 'Lock, she just doesn't understand.”

“Mycroft, the last time we went camping mummy basically kicked you out.”

“There are worse things that could have happened. My only regret is not getting you out of there sooner.” Mycroft gave himself a shake. “Still, I learned a few useful skills on our family excursions. Gregory, I should take you fishing sometime.”

“We're on a cruise, Myc.”

“Your point?” He asked.

“We can do whatever we want. I'm sure 5 words from you and a fishing rod will appear out of nowhere.”

Mycroft guffawed. “I'm rather powerful in my area, but I don't have godlike powers.”

John cleared his throat, stood and walked over to the nearest tent. He came back with four fishing rods and set them down in front of Sherlock. “Well, your name does seem to work miracles.”

At a ridiculously late hour of the night - the morning, actually - Sherlock finally deigned to climb into a lightweight sleeping bag. He and Mycroft had worked at the excavation site until they were both about to drop.

“See, John,” Sherlock pointed at the sky. “I told you the stars would be beautiful. Who needs a tent?”

The doctor chuckled. “You're correct as usual. I never really doubted it.” He snuggled against Sherlock's long body.  
“Tomorrow I...” The detective actually yawned, interrupting him. “Tomorrow, I want to go fishing since we've got all the gear.”

Sherlock was about to pout, he didn't enjoy fishing, not really, not like he used to. But so far everything they had seemed to do was to entertain him and if he had learnt anything by getting married it was that he should give John what he wants just as much as it worked in reverse. Instead, he twisted his body and rested his head on the doctor's chest. “Of course,” he murmured. He settled his chin down over John's head, tucking him in even closer and eventually fell asleep himself.

The next morning dawned early and bright, the sun rising over the ocean. Not too far from where Sherlock and John slept, Mycroft had already built up the fire and had coffee brewing.

John's eyes cracked open before Sherlock's for once. The smell of coffee was enough to get him awake and alert.  
The detective had wrapped himself around, and was practically atop of him.

“Sherlock, babe,” he whispered.

“No,” came the grumbled response. “You're comfy. Sod the coffee.”

“If it was just the coffee, I might agree, but I have another urgent problem right now.”

Sherlock cracked open one eye begrudgingly. “How bad?”

“If it was a case, it would be a 9.”

“Then I have another minute before I have to move.”

The doctor shook his head, there was nothing else for it. He set about tickling the younger man until he rolled away.

“I will be back, Myc,” John said as he hurried off into a bush.

Sherlock wandered across the sand and sat next to Mycroft, accepting a cup of coffee as he picked up a fishing rod and looked it over.

“You have really grown up, baby brother.” Mycroft glanced meaningfully towards the fishing rod. He knew Sherlock had no real desire to fish.

“It's what a husband does, right?” He asked almost shyly.

“Right,” he agreed with a nod.

“Hey!” Came a yell from the bushes.

John and Greg came out together scrapping over something, it was a matter of seconds before the two of them were rolling around in the sand, grinning the whole time.

The Holmses exchanged puzzled looks at their husband's antics. From this distance, neither of them could gather enough data to deduce what was going on. They watched for a few minutes until Greg sprang up, triumphant, and ran towards them.

When the DI reached them it was clear he was carrying a loo roll.

“That's totally not fair,” John panted, joining them. “Sherlock, you should have made your brother get two rolls dropped off.”

“Why?”

“Just because!”

Sherlock looked at his brother, realisation slowly making its way across his face. Abruptly, he broke into a fit of helpless giggles. “Oh, M... M... Myc! You're supposed to be the master planner and you overlooked something so simple.”

“Actually, brother-mine, I believe that both you and John are forgetting one thing. I was busy at the dig with you when our husbands called the ship to have the supplies delivered.”

There was a beat and then John lunged for the DI again. “You were the one that dealt with that!”

They began rolling around, this time their previous treasure sat on a rock beside the Holmeses.

While the two men rolled about on the ground, Sherlock quietly reached over and snagged the roll, tucking it under his legs and hiding it.

John finally ended up on top of Greg with the other man's arms pulled up behind him. “It seems army training is a lot more thorough than police these days…”

Greg snarled and snapped his teeth together doing a good impression of a shark.

John looked around and didn't see the roll anywhere. “Oi! Sherlock! I took this one down. I can take you too.”

The detective put on an innocent face. “I don't know what you're talking about, John.”

As the doctor turned back to Greg, who had ceased his struggling Sherlock quickly handed the roll to his brother, Mycroft hid it under one of the metal pans.

Before Sherlock could quite grasp John's plan he had lunged at his husband, two different men rolling around on the floor this time.

Greg stood with his hands on his hips and watched the two men and their antics. Mycroft moved, catching his husband's eye, and tossed the roll to the DI with a wink.

Greg waited until the doctor had Sherlock in the exact same position as he had been in mere moments ago. The only thing different was the fact that Sherlock fought back.

“Doctor Watson.” Greg stood with the roll in his hand like it was some prize.

John lunged at him falling on his face as Sherlock grabbed him by the ankle. That didn't stop Greg from running. Soon the other two men took off in pursuit.

Mycroft gave a chuckle, then stood and reached into a nearby bag and took out a second roll, walking off into the woods.

Sherlock collapsed onto a log what seemed like hours later, but was in fact only 20 minutes.

He waited for John to join him, holding the roll triumphantly, then tipped over to the side, burying his head into the doctor's lap.

“Well, now I'm completely knackered,” John said as he ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls. “What was I thinking, running around like a kid? And last night... You kept me awake too long, looking at the stars.”

“You were looking at the stars, I was looking at you.”

“Ahh, baby brother you're becoming soppy and sentimental.”

Sherlock barely mustered the courage to stick his tongue out at his brother. “John's fault.”

The doctor smiled down at him. “Good. I like it.”

“I don't,” Sherlock countered. “I hate being nice. It's boring.”

He twisted his head in a way he knew he'd catch his husband's cock.

John smacked him on the back of the head. “Not here,” he hissed, blushing furiously.

Sherlock huffed and settled in further. At least he could feel John, strong and desirous, under his cheek. He could content himself with that for now.

“Can we go back to the dig today, Myc?”

Mycroft hadn't been paying much attention to his brother but had focused on the DI and the way he looked like he owned the frying pan he was attempting to warm up around the fire.

“If you so wish.”

“Mmm. Good,” the younger brother purred.

Greg glanced over at John, not relishing a full day of the brother's mucking about at the dig.

The doctor seemed to agree. “Greg and I may stay here at the beach and do a bit of fishing, if that's ok.”

“Oh yeah,” Sherlock sat up. “Can we come back to the dig another day, Myc?”

“It will be difficult, little brother, the ship will start moving as soon as we get back.”

“It's alright, 'Lock, you go with Mycroft.”

Sherlock turned to his husband. “But I said to you last night that I would fish with you.”

John bent forward and placed a kiss on his husband's cheek. “Yes, and I appreciate that, but I know you don't want to.” He winked. “Besides, it'll give me and Greg a chance to talk about you and Mycroft.”

“Maybe my brother and I don't want to be talked about.”

John cupped his neck as Mycroft handed him a coffee. “Maybe I don't like being experimented on.”

Sherlock screwed up his face, his nose crinkling at the bridge. “I haven't experimented on you in weeks.”

Reaching out a hand, John ran a finger down the length of his husband's nose. “And don't think I'm not grateful, but I know it's only a matter of time.”

He folded his arms in a sulk.

“There, there, little brother.”

Sherlock turned his frowning face to his big brother. “Stop picking on me! I'm the same height as you!”

Mycroft tilted his head back and sniffed. “Actually, I'm a half inch taller than you, little brother.”

John snorted. “And I'm shorter than either of you, but I could take you both down.”

“I highly doubt that, doctor,” Mycroft said with an incline of his head.

John raised an eyebrow. “I'm not about to fight the British Government to prove a point.”

“Time to eat,” Greg announced, waving his skillet around.” He'd decided to scramble eggs in with the sausages, chopping them up into bits.

Sherlock's stomach actually growled and he looked down at his belly with a look of betrayal. “Shut it. You're not even getting waffles.”

Greg nudged the older Holmes. “Your baby brother is insane. He's talking to himself.”

“He was insane before he started talking to himself,” Mycroft pointed out.

“Aren't you going to defend my honour?!” Sherlock asked of his husband.

“Sherlock,” John said seriously, “I'm not about to punch them for telling the truth.”

The detective kicked his foot, sending sand in his husband's direction. “You don't have to punch them, just verbally eviscerate them. Just a bit.”

“Nope.” He had been absently blowing on a piece of sausage and he shoved it into Sherlock's still sulking mouth. “Eat and forget about it.”

Despite himself, the detective smiled. Greg was a good cook, even if it was just sausage and eggs. Maybe it was the company that made it taste so good. He shook his head.

“What?” John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “I'm becoming a sentimental fool.”

John burst out laughing before turning to Mycroft. “Did your guys have anything for bait dropped off?”

“You and Gregory dealt with it. Not me.”

“It's alright John, as long as yours doesn't eat the extra sausages I've cooked.”

Sherlock reached out, intending to snatch another sausage, but John slapped his hand. “I think we've already covered that. Hot. No touchy.” John stabbed one with his fork and passed the fork to his husband. “Blow on it.”

Sherlock's bottom lip popped out.

“You are ridiculous.”

Sherlock had finally dusted out the last part of the fireplace. “I can't believe it is practically complete.”

“Mmm, just a few missing tiles,” Mycroft agreed. “I never would have thought-”

The detective turned to look at his brother. “Thought what?”

“That you would have the patience for such things.”

“You never would have thought I would have the ability to fall in love, let alone get married.”

Mycroft tilted his head on one side.

“Good point. How much more of this do you reckon is connected.”

It was then that John came racing up over the mound of sand.

“Oi, Holmeses! Come see what we've got!”

Mycroft and Sherlock looked up, almost identical expressions on their faces.

“And that would be?” Mycroft asked.

“Fish! Lots of fish!”

Sherlock snorted. “You walked right into that one.”

“I didn't walk anywhere, little brother.”

“Come on, you two, what are you waiting for? A lift?”

Mycroft looked at his little brother. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Fine, but Greggie and I smell like fish and not in a good way.”

“Is there a good way?” Greg shook his head as he walked the last few feet to join them.

Sherlock sniffed. “I smell your point.”

He grabbed his brother by the shirt sleeve and pulled him upright.

“I suppose now we've dug up the most of it, we can leave the not so experts to finish the job.”

The brothers looked at the stringer of fish. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Now what?”

“Now you clean them and cook them.” John clapped him on the shoulder.

“No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do,” John argued.

“Both of you,” the DI added clapping his own Holmes on the shoulder.

“Oh, look, Myc. Its heart is still beating.” Sherlock's held up the guts of the fish he was cleaning. “I don't know why I complained about doing this.”

“I do. Don't torture the poor thing. Why are they making us do this?”

“Something about 'Holmeses need to learn what it's like to not have servants'. I mean, I've never had a servant, at least not since we were kids.”

“'Lock,” John called from several feet away, “Everyone on that ship out there is your servant.”

“I thought old people were supposed to be hard of hearing,” Sherlock groused.

“Um… little brother.”

“What?”

“Run.”

Sherlock had just a moment to glance over his shoulder and spot John coming at him for the second time that day.

As he sprinted away, he yelled over his shoulder, “What did I do this time?!”

The detective and the doctor disappeared down the beach. Greg walked over to Mycroft. “He is really the most idiotic genius ever born.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Mycroft said, kissing the younger man.

“I really wouldn't. You're the second most idiotic genius.”

“Or in other words the least idiotic. Seeing as there are only two geniuses.”

“How long do you reckon John'll chase him?”

Mycroft shrugged. “The fish should be cooked by the time they get back. This was the last one that needed cleaning.”

It was nearly 20 minutes before Sherlock appeared, puffing and panting, but from the other direction. He threw himself down on a log by the fire in time to hear Mycroft say, “We should get back to the boat this afternoon.”

John joined them and fell onto Sherlock's lap.

“Good,” the doctor approved. “This relaxing island has about killed me. I'm going to sleep for a day when we get back on board.”

Sherlock pouted. “Only if we can shag all day the day after that.”

Mycroft shook his head and handed Sherlock a metal tin with large chunks of fish in. “You may have to feed him.”

“Yeah, you're my servant now.”

The detective dropped a chunk of fish from 8 inches above John's mouth. He caught it, barely, chewing it and swallowing. “Oi! A little warn... umph.” He caught another piece before he could finish speaking.

He grabbed Sherlock's wrists. “Servants aren't supposed to kill their masters.”

Sherlock leant over to kiss him. “I could never kill you. You'd kill me back.”

John laughed. “Damn straight.”

Eventually, the small boat from the ship pulled up to the pier. Their time on the island was over. The two couples let themselves be taken back to the ship, knowing their supplies would be brought back to the ship as well.

Rather than climb the steps to their rooms they walked towards the closest rooms they could find, separated at opposite doors and collapsing inside on the double beds. Fast asleep within moments.

During breakfast the next day (which they had elected to enjoy on deck), a helicopter flew in and landed.

Greg frowned. “Does this mean you're needed back in London?” he asked in disappointment.

Mycroft smiled. “No, Gregory. I simply have a surprise for my brother today.”

Sherlock looked up from his waffles. “Another one?”

“Oh, this one is a little better, brother-mine. Something I hope the four of us will enjoy.”

John swallowed, his mouth full. “I don't know. I think we've enjoyed the last few days, don't you, Greg?”

The DI stretched. “Yeah, mate. It's been nice.”

“Ah, but it's been aimed at Sherlock, it's just mere coincidence that you've enjoyed it all too.”

“Coincidences don't exist Mycroft, we know this.”

The older brother's smile was slightly guilty. “Okay. So I knew… that doesn't change anything.”

Greg was done eating and pushed back from the table. “So, why did we all dress in jeans, T-shirts and boots? Not that it isn't a nice look on you, Myc, I'm just curious.”

“Do you really want me to spoil the surprise?” Mycroft asked. “You'll find out shortly. The sooner Sherlock finishes his waffle, the sooner you'll all find out.”

Sherlock poked his tongue out and began eating even slower.

“Look, you little brat,” John leant forward, picked up the waffle and shoved it in his mouth. “There. Can we go now?”

Everyone laughed, even Sherlock once he had swallowed.

“Yes, John,” the detective said with a smile. “I am curious about what we're doing that requires a helicopter.”

“Well, we didn't really need the helicopter. We could have waited a few days on here and then got the smaller boat to our location. I just figured Sherlock liked those headphones you get to wear in them.”

John chuckled as he leaned forward to tousle his boyfriend's hair. “You did enjoy it.”

Sherlock pouted strictly for show, hoping it would get him a kiss. It did. He let John's lips tease his pout away. Then he bit his lip.

“You sod,” he whispered. The doctor got to his feet, pulling Sherlock up with a hand behind his neck.

“One question,” the detective asked. “Will there be waffles?”

Mycroft chuckled. “If there are, they'll be crisp.”

Sherlock's eyebrows rose so high they disappeared behind his curly fringe of hair. “Interesting. John, come on!” He pulled the doctor along behind him fast, leaving the other couple to follow at a more leisurely pace.

“Do you sometimes wonder if your little brother ever actually grew up?”

Mycroft took Greg's hand in his. “Did I?”

“It depends if you're at work or not.”

“Same for him, don't you think?”

“I suppose, though he has pulled a few childish stunts even when on cases.” Greg snorted. “But you know that or you wouldn't keep such a close eye on him all the time.”

“True.”

They approached the helicopter to find Sherlock already in his seat. He had John on his lap and the headphones on.

“'Lock, he can't stay there. We'll get in trouble.”

“You're the British Government. You can't get in trouble. Unless it's with him,” he inclined his head in Greg's direction.

“We're not in Britain,” Mycroft pointed out.

John gave Sherlock a kiss and pat on the cheek. “You knew I'd have to move, Babe, but I won't go far.” He slid over onto the next seat without letting go of his boyfriend's hand.

As soon as the others were buckled in, the helicopter lifted off, banking hard to the left as soon as it had cleared the ship. There was a column of smoke in the distance.

Sherlock was staring out of the window, looking around, he doubted that even if he could see where they were heading he wouldn't know that was their destination till they landed. It was almost like he'd put his deductive skills on hold for a while.

A bit later, John started feeling a bit nervous as they drew nearer the column of smoke that was rising into the sky. “Is that a volcano? Shouldn't we be flying a bit more...” He waved his hand off to the side. “I don't know, away from it?”

Mycroft laughed first and that was when Sherlock's deduction skills finally kicked in.

“Of course not, you're an idiot, John.”

“I am not! Oh… right… I don't know about this, Mycroft.” John bit at his lip. “I mean, lava and Sherlock. Poison gasses and Sherlock. Rocks and cliffs and Sherlock.”

“What? Didn't you bring a leash?” Greg quipped.

John froze for a moment. “Yes. But it's on the boat.”

Sherlock scowled. “That's not funny.”

“Actually,” Greg interrupted the younger couples staring match. “It is pretty funny.”

The detective glared at Greg. “I could discuss the contents of the black bag you brought with you. I'm sure John would find it amusing.”

The DI looked horrified. “John...”

John shut his boyfriend up with a kiss. “Nutter,” he said fondly. “Let's not embarrass them. And you, don't go jumping into the volcano when we get there. You're no longer fit for a virgin sacrifice.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Can you be a virgin sacrifice when you're gay?”

“If your brother is the British Government you can probably do whatever you want.”

Sherlock laughed again, getting all excited by jumping in his seat as the helicopter began to descend.

Before it had even touched down, John had pre-emptively grabbed Sherlock by the scruff of the neck. “You're not getting out of my sight. No, you're going to hold my hand the entire time we're here.”

Sherlock struggled for a moment and then tried slipping out of his shirt to remove the obstacle but John grabbed his curls instead.

“You can't pull them off. Not even you are that stupid.”

“I'm not a child, John!”

“Didn't say you were, Babe.”

The helicopter landed on an escarpment near the top of the volcano. There were a pair of men waiting nearby who would be acting as their guides.

“And while we are on the rules. Please don't be rude to them, 'Lock,” Mycroft said. “I wouldn't put it passed these two to leave us in there.”

Greg looked up at the rim of the volcano. “We're not just looking at it from the top? We're going in there?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “I said we'd all enjoy it. Well,” his attention was distracted by his little brother getting berated by his husband. “Most of us.”

“John, I said I won't run off.”

“I don't believe you!”

The two guides were looking at John and Sherlock like they had lost their minds.

“Oh, sorry.” The doctor held out his hand. “I'm John and this is my mad husband Sherlock. Do you have any rope?”

One frowned. The other nodded once. “Um… yes, as a matter of fact, we do.”

“John, you can't be serious.”

“In fact,” Mycroft took the bag Greg was holding. He pulled out a harness, it was used for rock climbing, but it could be of some use. Like what parents put on their children when they were going out for the day.

Sherlock was about to protest when Mycroft pulled out three more harnesses.

“We brought the gear you specified,” the government official stated. “Oh, I'm Mycroft Holmes. I'm the one who scheduled this expedition and this is my husband Greg.”

While they were all climbing into the harnesses over top of their shirts and shorts one of the guides handed John a length of rope.

The doctor turned and grinned at Sherlock. He tied it to the back, and stuffed his hands into his pocket, the rope successfully tucked away.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Really, John?”

“Yep.” The doctor's reply was completely unapologetic. “If you go in the lava, you're taking me with you.”

Sherlock sighed. “But that means I can't go in the lava.”

“And you need to learn your life is as precious as mine.”

The detective grew uncharacteristically serious. “I know that, John, if only because it's precious to you.”

John swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat.

“Come on you soppy idiots.”

Greg and Mycroft had wandered off ahead with the two guides.

Sherlock tried to run only to be yanked back by the doctor.

“John, you are being ridiculous.” The detective pulled on the rope, trying to speed his husband along. “They're going to get there first.”

“And the volcano isn't going to go silent just because Mycroft lays eyes on it.”

He huffed indignantly.

“Sulking already, baby brother?”

“This isn't fair, Myc!”

“I think precautions where you are concerned is a very good idea.”

Greg's foot slipped on some loose stones and he grabbed madly at Mycroft.

“I think precautions would be a good idea where Greg is concerned,” Sherlock pointed out smugly.

John smacked him on the back of the head. “Be nice to the grownups, boy.”

Sherlock sighed. “You aren't going to let this end are you?”

“Nope.” John tugged on the rope and pulled his husband closer. “Never.”

“Hmph.”

Their guides handed masks to Mycroft and Greg waving two in the air in John and Sherlock direction.

Walking over with Sherlock in tow, John took them. “What are these for?”

“They'll help protect your lungs from the toxic gases below,” the taller guide explained.

“You get what that means, don't you 'Lock?” John said.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

“It means it stays on. No experimenting to see how long before it hurts.” He turned on Mycroft. “Did you seriously think this would be a good idea with him?”

Mycroft opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he said, “Perhaps I made an error in judgment.”

“Don't worry, John, I'll help you keep an eye on him,” Greg offered.

“This still isn't a good idea.”

The detective turned and took John's hand, he could sense his trepidation. “You can leave the rope on, if you want?”

“I... that's...” John went up on his tiptoes and kissed the detective. “Thank you. I just...”

“Worry.” Sherlock drew himself up to his full height. “You don't have to. Although curious to see everything and catalogue it, I assure you, I truly don't have a death wish.” With that, the detective took one of the masks from John and put it on.

He pulled it up quickly at John's look of astonishment. He sighed.

“I don't have a death wish anymore, then, is that better?”

“It's more believable, anyway,” John said with a jab at Sherlock's ribs. “If you're going to behave, this might turn out to be fun after all.” He put his own mask on and, together, they started after their guides.

It took almost two hours to make the descent into the caldera. The further down they travelled, the more alien the landscape became. It quickly became surreal with bubbling pools of water and rising steam.

Sherlock tugged John's hand, pulling him towards one such pool. It was green at the very centre with a ring of orange around it that faded to yellow.

“That's a pool of acid,” the shorter guide warned them. “Don't get too close.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock responded.

“Watch it,” John grumbled.

Sherlock sighed and went back to getting as close to the acid as he could.

The doctor went to grab him by the arm, but Sherlock chose that moment to bend over and pick up a stone. When he stood, he tossed it so that it landed on the far side of the pool. Their entire visit was punctuated by such antics, but nothing too terribly alarming. They exited the volcano over an hour later.

“You were surprisingly good,” John said, relaxing slightly now they were out of immediate danger.

“You had me like a dog on a leash. I didn't have a choice.”

They sat in the helicopter along with Greg and Mycroft. The DI tossed them each damp cloths to clean their hands and faces. Mycroft was waiting with bottles of water for them.

“That was incredible,” Greg said in a tired voice, “but my eyes are still burning.” He gave his husband a mock glare. “You don't have any more surprises of this type planned, do you?”

The British Government shrugged.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“We've at least got a few days to chill out haven't we?”

This time Mycroft nodded. “The honeymoon is as long as we want, after all.”

“I thought it was 3 months?” John said. “That's all I've got off work.”

“Anthea will sort that if we run over.”

They buckled in and the helicopter lifted off. Sherlock leaned on John and rested his head on his shoulder. As for the other couple, Greg practically mirrored Sherlock's pose. All of them were exhausted, so the cruise ship was a more than welcome sight.

John and Mycroft ended up having to carry their boyfriends to their rooms.

“You'd think these two would be the ones carrying us.”

“Why's that? Mycroft asked as they climbed the last of the stairs to their rooms.

“These two are the ones who run ragged at the Yard all the time. I struggle to keep up. Why are they more exhausted than us?”

Mycroft chuckled as he lowered Greg to his feet. “Any thoughts about that, Gregory?”

“Mph.” The DI ran a hand through his silver hair. “Me, I'm old. I don't know what that one's excuse is.”

'That one' was still completely out of it. John leant down to kiss the top of his head. When an idea struck him. He mimed 'stay there' to the two almost awake men and walked into Mycroft and Greg's room. He laid his husband on the bed.

“John…” he moaned.

“Shh, babe, go back to sleep.”

When he was sure he was fast asleep again, he tiptoed from the room.

“Mycroft, which room is he the least likely to look in? We should hide for the night.”

“Hmm, one of the smallest rooms would be too obvious, as would one of the largest staterooms...” Mycroft shook his head. “Something on the mid-level decks. No, that would be obvious. Ah, the crew quarters, then.”

“Won't they be bothered?”

“The amount we're paying? And the simple fact that there is only enough crew on here for the four of us? Easy.”

John looked puzzled. “I thought you had bought this ship.”

“It still costs to take her out,” Mycroft explained blandly. The doctor was grateful that, unlike Sherlock would have done, he had left off the 'obviously'.

The following morning Sherlock woke up alone. And he wasn't even in his room. There was no John either. Sighing, he rolled out of bed and glanced at the clock, it wasn't late, he hadn't slept in, so where was he?

Sherlock stretched and walked to the door, flinging it open. His room was just down the corridor, so he decided to check it first. “John?!” he called as he barged in. The room was disappointedly empty. He frowned. He didn't remember falling asleep in Mycroft's room. In fact, he didn't remember falling asleep at all. He walked up the corridor flinging open rooms haphazardly. “John? Mycroft? Greg?”

How far could they have gone? They were on a ship for Christ's sake! Perhaps they were having breakfast. Sherlock wandered to their favourite dining spot. Nothing.

He spun around and growled. The only person in sight was himself, there wasn't even staff behind the bar.

Sighing, but not really caring as he needed a drink, he just jumped over the bar and helped himself to the kettle behind it.

Naturally, the tea he made wasn't as good as John's would have been. Sherlock sighed as he sipped it. He was bored already.

Bored!

How was he supposed to entertain himself without John?

Shouldn't he be doing something to find him? Him and his brother. Greg as well, he supposed.

A copper, an army doctor and the British Government. They couldn't possibly be in trouble on a ship with only four passengers so what the hell were they up to?

Whatever they were doing had to be more fun than this. Sherlock would find them, wherever they were. Maybe they were watching a movie in the theatre. He'd start there.

On the way he paused. It had only just gone 8 am. Not even John watched movies at 8 am. So where the hell were they? He just wished he could phone them, but the chances of them having battery power were practically non-existent.

So. Sherlock considered. John could be counted on to seek out food. He could check the dining rooms one by one, tedious, or he could find a member of the crew. They should be able to tell him where food was actively being served. As there was no one about, he would have to attract a crew member's attention. A small fire should do that quite efficiently.

He went to the top deck after rooting through the drawers behind the bar for a lighter.

He threw a load of papers in a metal bin and lit one, dropping it on top.

About 30 seconds later, an alarm started blaring. It took even less time for 6 crew members to show up, each wielding fire extinguishers. Sherlock stood back and waited for the rather amusing chaos to subside.

He was suddenly grabbed rather roughly by the arms and dragged from the room.

“What the hell? Get off of me!”

They stopped in a hallway, Mycroft, John and Greg storming towards them.

“Let him go,” Mycroft ordered with a sigh. He should have predicted what his brother would do to flush them out, but he had been lulled by the past several days' relative peace.

“But, Mr. Holmes, he set a-”

“Yes, yes and it was entirely my fault. I didn't arrange to entertain the toddler today. Now, let him go.”

The moment the younger Holmes was released, John moved in and grabbed him by the ear. “We're at sea, you arse. If the ship catches on fire, there's not exactly anywhere for us to go.”

“You left me alone!” He countered immediately.

“No reason for you to set fire to the place!”

“It was only a small one!”

They both turned their heads as an unexpected sound reached their ears - Greg laughing.

“Oh, oh,” the DI wiped at his eyes, “that's so Sherlock.”

“Greg, have you lost your mind?” John asked incredulously.

“Nope. Quite right, you should spank his arse, but we'd thought Sherlock had grown up a little. We should have known and with a response like that he clearly hasn't.”

“Just for that, I'm calling you Gavin from now on.” Sherlock winced when John twisted his ear.

“I have more than half a mind to really spank you, but you know what? No more waffles. Not one.” The doctor gave his husband's ear another twist. “And you won't go on a hunger strike or I will spank you.”

“That's no fair!” He stamped his foot. “We're on our honeymoon!”

“Shut it, Sherlock… just… you could have looked for us rather than setting fire to the place.”

“I... missed you. Though, at the moment, I don't recall why.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Brother-mine, do shut up.”

John glanced at the elder Holmes and then at Greg.

“What are we going to do with him?”

“We're approaching a small desert island,” Mycroft says smoothly. “However... as it is your honeymoon, that might be a bit drastic. Not to mention it would nullify the point of your honeymoon. Gregory. Suggestions?”

“We lock him in a room on his own until we get to a new place.”

“Maybe that’s a bit overboard…” Sherlock tried.

“Overboard?” John thought for a moment. “We could make him walk the plank again? Can you get the ship to stop?” He asked Mycroft. “We could go diving or snorkelling for the day?”

“As I said, we're approaching an island. We'll stop there. Snorkelling is an excellent idea.” Mycroft waved one of the crew men over and explained the change in plans.

Sherlock scowled because John didn't let his ear go.

He dragged him all the way to their room. “No more fires Sherlock!”

He shoved him into their room so they could get changed.

Pulling on his swim trunks, Sherlock debated taking his magnifying glass to the island and starting a fire just to show he could do what he wanted. Then he thought about how angry John would be. He'd probably end up sleeping alone. It was definitely not worth it.

He stropped off out of the room before the doctor was ready.

“God dammit, Sherlock!”

John jerked up his trunks and ran after the detective. “Anyone could have seen my bare bum!”

Greg stepped out into the corridor at just that moment. “I'm certainly glad I missed seeing that!” He shook his head as they disappeared. “Mycroft, they're gone.”

“My brother is getting bored.”

“It was your idea for a cruise!”

He sighed. “I know!”

“Maybe I should kill someone for him,” Greg offered, humour evident in his tone. “Give him a bit of a mystery to solve.”

“Don't trouble yourself on my brother's part, Gregory,” Mycroft teased back. “Perhaps we should move our honeymoon to the mainland soon.”

The DI frowned and stamped his foot, much like Sherlock. “I don't wanna leave the boat.”

Mycroft laughed. “You're the one I married. I can put up with Sherlock's childish behaviour until you're ready to leave.” He looked thoughtful. “He did mention a fascination with sharks. Maybe we can work with that.”

“How do you mean?”

“We should be able to find a shark cage somewhere. I could have it flown in.”

“Jesus!” Greg laughed. “John will lose it.”

“I think it's worth it just to see that.”

“You would tell Sherlock not to poke his finger through the holes and he would do it just to see if he could get bitten.”

“We'll make him wear chain mail mittens.” Mycroft wrapped his arm around Greg's shoulders as they walked.

“Oh, that'll go down well.”

“Do you deliberately think of things that will just annoy your brother?”

Sherlock jumped out of a random room. “Yes, he does!”

Greg startled, but Mycroft was as cool as ever. The corner of the elder Holmes' mouth quirked up in amusement. “I deny any such thing.”

John came jogging up, panting.

Sherlock hadn't anticipated the smack on the back of the head so he didn't get a chance to duck.

“Ow!” He rubbed at the spot he'd been hit. “John, they were talking about me,” Sherlock whinged. “And you didn't have to hit me so hard.”

“Of course they were, you git. You set fire to the ship.”

“You're on about that again, are you?”

“Damn right I am!”

“It was only a small one and I took precautions.”

“Like what?”

“I did it in a bin!”

Greg jumped in to halt the impending squabble, “John, how do you feel about sharks?”

The doctor gave a dramatic shudder. “I hate them. I don't even watch the sharks on the documentary channel. Why?”

“Shark cage!” Sherlock suddenly said.

“It wouldn't be for a few days, little brother. I need one flown in.”

“No, no, no,” John countered immediately. “The volcano was pushing it. But him near sharks…”

“I'll make sure he can't poke his bits outside of the cage, John,” Mycroft assured him.

“Mycie! That takes the fun out of it.”

John still didn't look like he liked the idea.

“I'll go in with you instead, Mycie!”

Mycroft looked stunned. “Actually, I hadn't planned to go in.”

“I will,” Greg piped up. “I love sharks. And I won't let him get anything bitten off, John. Promise.”

The doctor scowled. “Fine. But I'm not watching.”

“What if I die, John?” Sherlock asked, tugging on his hand persistently. “Don't you want to see my last moments?

“I saw that once, ta,” John said with a hint of steel in his voice. “I don't intend on seeing it again.”

Greg kicked Sherlock in the shin.

“Sorry,” the detective said in a small voice.

“I think it's time to make him walk the plank,” John grumbled.

Mycroft walked off ahead to the edge of the ship. “About 10 minutes. We should probably get our gear.”

Sherlock stared at the deck, afraid to meet John's eyes. He spied a piece of John's 'booty' from days before. Walking over, he picked up the piece of glass, returned to his husband's side and held it out as an offering.

John, took it, his expression softening. He kissed Sherlock. “Of course, you're forgiven.”

The detective sighed in relief and wrapped his arms around the younger man.

When they came out of their hug Mycroft and Greg had gone.

A few minutes later they reappeared with the snorkelling gear.

Sherlock took his, then made a run towards the open boarding port and out into open air. He fell in the water with a great splash.

“So much for making him walk the plank,” the doctor said wryly. “Just tell me the ship has stopped.”

“Of course, else the port would still be closed,” Mycroft said with a laugh.

John nodded, then leapt after his husband.

Mycroft and Greg took no convincing themselves to jump in after the two younger men.

Sherlock had already began to swim to the island.

Compared to the size of the ocean the island was tiny, and it was easy enough to swim around, should they so wish.

It was amazing how different the ocean looked here as opposed to the last place they went diving. The water was deeper and bluer and there seemed to be more fish.

In mere moments Sherlock had disappeared beneath the ocean's surface in search of friends. Or foes, seeing as it was Sherlock and that was the sort of thing he would try and find.

He came back up shouting, “John! I found a barracuda!” Foe then. Sherlock was swimming as fast as he could towards them. “It's an angry barracuda!”

“Yes. No doubt because you've been down there poking and prodding it with a stick.”

Sherlock poked his tongue out and actually licked John's cheek.

“That was disgusting.”

“Salty water. It was worse for me.”

John laughed.

“And anyway, I don't have a stick to poke it with.”

“God, you poked it with your finger, didn't you?” John rolled his eyes heavenward. “Those things are fast. I'm surprised you still have all your fingers.”

Sherlock immediately moved his hands around behind him.

It had the desired effect. John was immediately in doctor mode and snatched his hands around again.

They were fine. No blood. Nothing. Sherlock still had all his fingers. And then he noticed the smug smirk on his brat's face and knew the shit was having him on.

“You bastard!”

Sherlock burst out laughing.

“What's going on?” The DI asked as they finally caught up, enjoying their much more leisurely pace.

“The usual, Sherlock being a prick.” John splashed at his husband. “There probably wasn't even a barracuda.”

“There was, but I wasn't dumb enough to poke it. Even I have more sense than that.” The grinning detective closed his eyes as John splashed him again.

He turned to swim away to find Mycroft there, splashing him from the other side.

“Don't be a brat, little brother.”

“Why am I always the brat, big brother?”

“You were born a brat, Babe.” John had snuck up closer, so he reached out and dunked the detective who came up spluttering.

Greg noticed a fin sticking out of the water, moving in an up and down motion a few feet away. He swam close to his boyfriend and whispered in his ear. Mycroft grinned and addressed the doctor, “John, what's that? Just there.”

The doctor's eyes followed in the direction Mycroft had pointed. After a moment, the fin emerged again. “Shark!” John grabbed Sherlock by the hair and began swimming away from the perceived threat.

Mycroft and Greg started laughing. “It's a dolphin!” the DI shouted between guffaws.

Sherlock looked like he was struggling for his life. He finally pulled free, but John was still off back towards the boat.

Sherlock turned to his brother. “Why did I marry the wimp?”

“Need I remind you how you feel about ticks?” Mycroft asked.

Even in the water, Greg could see Sherlock shudder. “They're disgusting parasites,” the younger Holmes declared.

“And you ran screaming like a girl when you got one,” came the British Government's response. “Of course, I could bring up leeches.”

Sherlock scowled at him. “I hate them because, you refused to let me experiment on them.”

“That makes no sense,” the DI responded.

“As a child, he wanted to experiment with one of Redbeard's 'friends'. I wouldn't let him.”

John had finally calmed down and was swimming back in their direction. The fin came up right in front of him, followed a moment later by the laughing head of a dolphin. He squawked, then laughed as the dolphin dove back under the water.

It was closely followed by Sherlock.

“You are mad!” He yelled at him when the detective began mimicking the noises that the dolphin was making.

“Yes!” Sherlock dove under the water and swam below John, blowing bubbles as he went, then he came up behind him. “And you love me for it.”

“They're getting soppy again,” Greg declared. “I'm headed towards the beach.”

Mycroft couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry, but he followed Greg anyway.

“Don't be boring!” Sherlock yelled after them. John moved forward and wrapped his arms around Sherlock from behind, nibbling at his earlobe playfully. “We could follow them and keep up the soppiness.”

“I like it here. Maybe the dolphin will come back.”

“Let's go that way,” John said with a nod of his head in the direction opposite of where the others had gone.

“Fishies!” Sherlock yelled, kicking away from the doctor with a splash.

“If you find Nemo, leave him alone!” John yelled after him. He went into a forward stroke and followed.

Several yards away, the detective was happily swimming in small circles, kicking and splashing with glee.

But he kept poking his head up for breath.

“If you stuck the bit in your mouth you wouldn't have to come to breathe, although I'm glad you are, I wouldn't put it past you to see how long you could hold your breath and you'd go blue.”

“It's full of water. I can't breathe water.”

“Use that brain of yours, genius. You blow air through the tube and clear the water out.”

Sherlock tried it and, to his delight, a squirt of water shot into the air. He could use it as a makeshift water gun. Which he did immediately, squirting it at John.

The doctor sighed. “You are such a child.” He ducked under the newest spray of water and wrapped his arms around his detective in a tight bear hug. Then he took his hand.

“We could be otters,” Sherlock said with delight.

The blond frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Otter pairs hold hands when they sleep so they don't drift apart.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope.” Sherlock flipped over and started swimming on his back. “Here.” He held out his hand for John to take, which of course he did. They floated together, looking at a few wispy clouds in the sky. John couldn't believe what a random fact Sherlock had somehow retained.

“But how does this help with looking at the fish?”

The detective's frown was clear to see, despite their positions.

“Good point,” he flipped over dramatically and grabbed John's hand again. He pushed the bit back in his mouth and plunged.

Of course, he dragged John with him, but the doctor had been expecting it. They swam down as far as they could go and looked around for a bit.

Both of them were so content watching the fish down below that they didn't notice either Mycroft or Greg appearing behind them and grabbing their trunks.

John twisted around and gave Greg the slip. Sherlock, however, swam out of his trunks and to the surface. The rest of them surfaced fully a moment later.

“Lose something, brother-mine?” Mycroft asked, holding the orange trunks up in his right hand.

“Who cares? I'm skinny dipping!”

“Oh god,” a blush rose up John's cheeks incredibly quickly.

“Mycroft, what have you done to your brother?!” Greg burst out laughing. “You should have known better!”

“Sherlock! Put your trunks on,” the doctor ordered.

“Make me.” The detective dove under the water, his white bum breaching the surface for just a moment.

John blushed even harder, swam over and pulled Sherlock's trunks from Mycroft's grasp. “Oh, grow up.”

“Why am I the one that you are telling to grow up?” Sherlock yelled when he surfaced again. “He's the one that nicked my trunks!”

“And I was talking to your brother!” John shouted. “Git! Catch.” He tossed the trunks in Sherlock's direction.

The detective just went back under and the trunks slowly sank into the ocean.

Huffing, as if extremely put upon, Mycroft dived under to try and retrieve them. They may not mind out in the ocean like this, but when they got back to the ship he wouldn't have his baby brother parade around the deck, naked, in front of the crew, not after the morning he'd had with them.

He actually managed to catch the trunks as they drifted. “Got them, John.”

The doctor nodded his appreciation as he chased his husband.

“To be honest,” John said, stopping short. “You should chase the other child with them.”

“I have to agree with John,” the DI said, his head tilted to one side. “Go!”


	8. Pirate Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More outrageous fluff to give us a break from angst.

Naturally, chasing down a naked, swimming detective was easier said than done. Once Mycroft caught said detective, getting the swim trunks on him proved to be impossible. He kicked and thrashed and pulled and somersaulted.

“You dragged them off me, Mycie!”

“Yes, baby brother, and now I'm trying to get you back in them.”

“Boring!”

“Sherlock, put on the trunks,” John called as he caught them up. “If you don't, a jellyfish could sting your man bits.”

The detective looked distinctly alarmed. He grabbed for his trunks and pulled them on. It was only then that he looked around for a jellyfish. “Liar!”

John burst out laughing along with Greg. “Got you into your trunks, didn't it?” He held his hand up. “And don't even think of taking them back off again.”

Sherlock retaliated by sticking out his tongue and crossing his arms. “Not fair. I should be able to swim naked if I want to.”

“Babe, it's the people watching from the ship that bother me,” John explained. “I don't want them looking at what's mine.”

“I'm under water. They cannot see me.”

John rolled his eyes. “Keep them on and look at the fishies.” John jabbed at the water, splashing his boyfriend in the face.

Sherlock thought about complaining further, but instead dove under, yelling, “Fishies!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I thought he was a child before.”

Greg chuckled beside him, watching as the doctor joined the younger man. He wrapped his arms around Mycroft from behind, burying his nose in his neck. “This is one hell of a holiday.”

“Mm, yes. It's been quite enjoyable, Gregory. I do hope John survives the shark cage. We should do something he'll enjoy.”

“I thought I was going in with Sherlock?”

“Do you really think he'd let him out of his sight?”

The pair popped up a little way away splashing each other.

“No, I guess not. But that means you're coming with me.”

“Oh, no, no, no. Human sharks I can deal with, but shark sharks-”

Greg laughed. “Are you really going to let me out of your sight?”

The government official wilted. “No, I guess not. Perhaps the whole shark cage thing was a bad idea.”

Sherlock cleared his throat from behind them. “I heard that.”

“'Lock-”

His little brother splashed him. “Lying isn't fair brother mine.”

Greg splashed Mycroft as well. “Mycie! You promised!”

“Oh, for goodness sake. Fine! I won't cancel the shark cage.” Under his breath, he muttered, “I'm going to regret this.”

“I bloody told you that when you brought it up the first time,” John grumbled.

“No need to worry about that now.” Sherlock actually grabbed his older brother's hand and then tugged him downward, “We can see the reef.”

Mycroft would have laughed, only he needed the air. They swam down and looked at the anemone. There were little fish swimming in and out of them, heedless of their stinging tentacles.

John and Greg weren't far behind.

They were both glad to see that Sherlock had ditched his brother's hand, only to see him reach forward to the anemone and Mycroft to smack his hand giving him a look that clearly said 'are you a complete imbecile?'

Sherlock managed to glower underwater and darted out his hand, this time touching the anemone. He pulled his hand back looking at it in surprise. It had stung, but not as badly as he had imagined it would.

John swam up behind him, grabbed his curls and then began yanking him to the surface, the detective had no choice but to comply or get his hair ripped out. He knew John would do it, as well.

On the surface, John looked at his husband with love and annoyed amusement. “You just had to stick your finger where it didn't belong. Let me see.” He examined Sherlock's hand which was turning red. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really.” Sherlock sounded mildly surprised. “It must have been a less aggressive variety.”

“Well be glad that I'm of the lesser aggressive variety of husband.” He clipped him on the back of the head. “Promise me it won't happen again or I'm dragging you back to that ship.”

Mycroft watched the interaction fondly, John always knew just how to handle his baby brother, in a way very few did.

“What will you do with me if you drag me back to the ship?” Sherlock asked cheekily.

“Nothing fun. I'll bore you to death.”

“You could never manage that.”

John raised an eyebrow, “Oh Sherlock, you have no idea the boring things I listed that I could do to you while you set fire to the deck.”

“I set fire to a bin. And it wasn't even to a bin, it was in one.”

“We're not revisiting that debacle, babe. We're moving on to brand new ones like sticking our fingers where they don't belong. If I can't trust you with an anemone how can I trust you in a shark cage?”

Sherlock's expression changed to compliant immediately. “I'm sorry, John.”

The doctor smirked. “Good boy,” he patted his head like he was a dog and then pushed him towards Mycroft. “Now go play nicely while the grown ups watch.”

As Sherlock joined his brother, John joined Greg. They watched the brothers 'play' for a bit.

“You know what I'd like?” John asked. “I'd like to do what we used to do as kids. Dad borrowed a friend's motor boat and took us out. He'd pull me and Harry around on a tube. It was mad, but it was so much fun.”

“Do you seriously think that's unreasonable?”

John frowned but Greg just smirked.

“I mean, come on, look at that. The British Government is treading water while his baby detective brother swims between his legs.”

This time the doctor inclined his head. “And?”

“And when can Mycroft not get hold of whatever he wants?”

“You think so?”

“He's having a shark cage brought in.”

John laughed. “Fair point. Ok, I'll ask him.” He didn't want to disturb the pair. He knew that the two of them acting like brothers was hardly a shock any more, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate it all the same.

“I know how you feel,” Greg whispered following the doctor's line of sight. “Do you wanna pop back to the ship? See if there's any lilos or something we can float on and watch?”

“Sounds good.” John started towards the ship. He also wondered if he could get a drink to sip as they lounged and watched the brothers.

Despite noticing their husbands swimming away, the two Holmeses weren't bothered. They knew the two of them wouldn't be gone for long and even if they were it didn't matter, they could have plenty of fun on their own. Which they proceeded to do. Both of them knew better than to touch the coral as that would kill it, but they enjoyed swimming close and looking at it. There were fan corals, blade corals, brain corals and types of corals that Sherlock didn't bother to enter his Mind Palace to identify.

When Sherlock next turned around he held a fish.

Bubbles came out of Mycroft's mouth as a response and they both surfaced. Sherlock still held it.

“Let it go, 'Lock.”

“But Mycie-”

“'Let it go, 'Lock, and I'll have a saltwater aquarium installed in Baker Street when we get home.”

Sherlock released the fish, then swamped his brother in a hug.

Mycroft honestly couldn't believe what he'd just said. What else could he possibly give his brother? He was sure he could think of some other stuff.

That was how Greg and John found them, minutes later, still wrapped in each other's arms. This time they were dragging lilos behind them.

“John! We're getting an aquarium!” Sherlock brought his feet up and kicked, splashing madly. “I want a little shark to go in it and one of those little orange and white fishies.”

“The shark will eat the fish,” Mycroft reminded him.

“Then get me a vegetarian shark.”

John glanced between the brothers, unsure. “An aquarium?”

Greg looked at Sherlock. “A vegetarian shark?”

“And an anemone, a starfish... Why haven't we seen a starfish? A blowfish, a blue and yellow fish and a sea horsie,” the detective finished.

John just shook his head and splashed him. “Greg has beer so we're going to watch the children play.”

The doctor and the DI climbed on their lilos and enjoyed the gentle rocking of the waves. As they watched their husbands, they drank their beers.

Sherlock rediscovered the ability of his snorkel as a water pistol. He waited until Mycroft had turned his back looking at one of the rocks they'd managed to drift over to before he 'fired'.

Not caring one whit that it was undignified, Mycroft fired back. A full blown war ensued. Water shot back and forth in splattering arches between the two men.

John and Greg were having too much of a relaxing time to intervene.

***

The boys had played water wars the night before until they were wiped out and demanding a shower, food and bed.

When Sherlock awoke with a groan, he rolled out of bed immediately. Sitting on the edge, he left John to sleep. He wanted to do something nice for Mycroft so he would get him breakfast in bed. It wouldn't mean the same as if they were at home and he had to cook himself, but if he ordered 4 portions from room service to their door, he could take his favourite breakfast through to him. He would have to think of something more substantial as a thank you, though. He grabbed the phone and dialled room service.

When the food arrived, Sherlock even thought to knock on Mycroft and Greg's stateroom door rather than just charging in. It was the DI who called for him to enter.

Mycroft was curled up beside the younger man still asleep. It wasn't Sherlock that woke him, but John.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the doctor hissed from the door. “What are you… oh.” He caught sight of the trolley in his hands.

The detective blushed. “I was just... It only seemed... Mycroft's just been so nice, John,” he finished lamely.

“It's a lovely idea, babe,” the doctor reassured him. John followed him in, now much more sheepish, especially as he realised he'd woken the eldest up.

“You haven't come to throw food have you, 'Lock?”

“Leave him be,” Greg defended the detective. “He even knocked.”

Sherlock pushed the trolley beside the bed.

Mycroft stretched lazily, then sat up in bed. His brother fluffed his pillow for him and stuffed it behind his back. “I had your favourite brought, Mycie, even though I would have preferred waffles myself.”

John rolled his eyes, then backtracked. “You ordered enough for the 4 of us?”

Sherlock nodded once. “Of course.” He placed a plate on John's lap.

The doctor grinned at the bacon sandwich. “You have good taste, Mycroft.”

“Everything is better with bacon,” the government official said smugly. “I once added bacon sprinkles to ice cream. It was delicious.”

“I don't know what to say to that,” Greg said, his own sandwich halfway to his mouth.

“Trust me, that is absolutely nothing compared to some of the food combinations my baby brother has come up with.”

“Not my fault food is boring.” Sherlock paused. “Except waffles.”

After swallowing, John gave Sherlock a mock worried frown. “After breakfast, I should give you a full examination, babe. You must be sick, doing something so nice for your brother.”

Sherlock didn't quite know what to say to that. He could tell him the real reason, but didn't really want to in front of Mycroft.

Laughing at the conflicted look on Sherlock's face John leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then he whispered, “I understand,” into his ear.

Suddenly deciding he needed to do something else as well the detective quickly ate the rest of his sandwich and dumped the plate back on the trolley. “Won't be long,” with that he stood up and headed out of his brother's room. He accosted the first crew member he came across and proceeded to explain what he needed in detail. Twice. Then one more time for good measure.

The young woman looked like she wanted to be rude at being treated like an idiot, but she held her tongue.

“Of course, Mr. Holmes.”

The detective nodded once and then made a detour to the kitchen, collecting waffles on his way back.

Greg threw back his head and laughed heartily when Sherlock reappeared carrying no less than 12 waffles. “Hey, 'Lock, are those all for you?”

“Of course not. I have a wide variety. Chocolate chip, strawberry, blueberry, banana. You can each have whatever kind you want. On one condition,” he finished. They frowned and watched as he snatched up the 3 blueberry ones. “I get these.”

Greg laughed and grabbed one of each of the remaining flavours. “It's good to know you haven't gone completely soft. Pass the chocolate sauce.”

“No.” Sherlock snagged up the sauce and took it over to the seat beside John.

“You brat,” Greg pronounced.

“Stop being lazy,” the detective countered.

“You brought us breakfast in bed, you cheeky shit.”

The doctor presented his cheek to be kissed, which it soon was. John poured chocolate sauce over his waffles then passed it to Greg.

“Thank you, John,” the DI said in a very pointed manner.

Sherlock poked his tongue out.

Mycroft had been watching the preceding with unsure amusement. He couldn't quite grasp the aim of any of it.

Greg fixed a plate for his boyfriend and set it in front of him “Eat, Mycroft, while your brother's not doing something totally mad.”

That made Mycroft laugh, but he still watched Sherlock.

The younger man had balanced the three blueberry waffles on top of each other and was attempting to bite into them.

Despite the oddness of the action it was nice seeing him eat.

When Sherlock proved unsuccessful at biting into all three waffles, he set them down and tried something different. He rolled the topmost waffle up like cigar and bit the end off of it.

“You are impossible,” John whispered, dropping his hand on his knee.

Sherlock glanced at the clock: half 9. The helicopter would be here by 11. He allowed them 15 more minutes before demanding that his brother and husband get up and get ready.

Mycroft stretched languidly and rested an arm around Greg's shoulders. “I think we should spend the entire day in bed. Of course, without the company of you two miscreants.” He pointed at John and Sherlock.

“Do whatever you want brother mine,” Sherlock said with a grumble. He glared at John as he walked out of their room and into the next door one.

“Can someone who's bipolar have mood shifts that quick?” The doctor asked as he looked after his disappearing husband.

“No, even rapid cycling versions of the disorder only typically see about four mood shifts in a year.” Mycroft shook his head. “He's just being Sherlock.”

“Or you've inadvertently annoyed him.”

By the time John had reached their room Sherlock had changed and was gone. The detective had headed straight from his room up to the deck and collapsed in a deck chair.

All he had wanted to do was do something nice for his brother. He just wasn't good at this sort thing and Mycroft... He was an annoying brother that couldn't cooperate with the simplest of plans. He smiled as the helicopter landed and looked around, there was no sign of the others. He would give it 20 minutes and then tell the annoyingly loud thing it could bugger off and wasn't needed.

John appeared first, followed by Mycroft and Greg. The DI was looking towards the helicopter in perplexed confusion. The other two men had eyes only for Sherlock who was clearly in a mood.

When he spotted the others he had to make himself smile. “Nice of you to show up brother dear,” he grumbled.

“Well, if you wanted us up here you could have told us, Sherlock.”

“It was meant to be a surprise, you moron, I wanted to do something for you for once.”

“I'm not a mind reader, 'Lock. Furthermore, I'm very touched.” He sat on the nearest deck chair and regarded his mercurial brother fondly.

“You are a bloody mind reader. Or as close to one as you can get. Like you always say you're the smart one, after all.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes but Sherlock was on his feet and walking towards the helicopter. John stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He turned him around and caught his gaze. “You, Mr. Holmes-Watson are better than this.” He gave his husband a smile to soften his words. “Let Mycroft let you do something for him. It'll mean the world to him.”

“That was my plan in the first place,” he refused to meet John's eye.

“I know. So can we go wherever it is you wanted us to?”

Sherlock sighed and tugged his arm free. “Whatever.”

Looking heavenward, John sighed. He loved the younger man, he really did, but would Sherlock ever grow up? He trotted off after his stroppy husband.

Greg offered Mycroft his hand and helped him up. “You know how he is. He'll come around.”

The government official just nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

Sherlock had already told the crew where they were going, so as soon as Mycroft and Greg joined them the helicopter flew off.

The detective ignored it when John placed a hand on his knee. The doctor ignored the fact that he was being ignored and enjoyed the view. The ocean below seemed to be a thousand shades of blue green, none of them as lovely as his husband's eyes. He kept looking at him and then glancing down below as if comparing the two. Sherlock, if he noticed, didn't seem to care. John wanted to ask where they were headed, but knew the way Sherlock was acting he'd say it straight away rather than keep the secret from his brother.

Greg was in a similar situation. His Holmes was glaring out over the horizon, not really seeing it. The DI took his husband's hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. That, at least, earned him a fleeting smile.

The detective couldn't keep his eyes from his watch. He had estimated it would be about 15 minutes before they were near enough to see it. He had hoped the pilot was competent enough to not pass the actual reason for their flight and still be secretive about it.

Tapping Sherlock's arm, John waited until he looked at him, then he pointed at his watch and made a questioning gesture. That bit of curiosity on the doctor's part made Sherlock's lips quirk up at the corners, though he was still determined to be annoyed. The detective shook his head and resumed glancing from his watch to the sea. He almost sighed in relief when there was someone other than himself that held some decent level of competence as they landed without seeing their destination at all. That didn't mean the other three knew that.

As they climbed out, Sherlock went to speak to one of the crew members who gave him directions.

John looked around, confused. This place looked boring even to him. What the devil could Sherlock possibly have in mind? After exchanging brief glances with both Mycroft and Greg, the doctor followed after his husband, the other couple close behind. “Sherlock, at what point are you going to explain where we're going?”

The younger man looked over his shoulder and shrugged. He was stuck for what to say.

It looked like a shopping/tourist district. John couldn't imagine either Sherlock or Mycroft willingly coming to a place like this. A few more minutes of walking and several miniature 'pirate ships' came into view.

A grin spread out across Mycroft's face. His annoyance at his brother disappeared in a flash. “'Lock… you didn't… how did you even…?”

“Crazy golf?” Greg asked in disbelief. “We're playing crazy golf? At... Pirate's Bay?”

John shrugged, then burst out in a grin. “I haven't played since I was a kid. I never could get passed the windmill.”

Mycroft for once was not paying attention to his husband but to Sherlock. He had gone rather red and his hands were stuffed deeply into his pockets. “I can't believe you remembered…”

“I might have been angry with you for a while... alright, for years, but I never deleted anything we did together as children.” The detective scuffed his shoe against the pavement and kept his eyes down. “Especially the stuff we did together without Mummy.”

Mycroft sighed softly. “She doesn't matter. Not anymore.” For some strange reason he wanted to hold his hand out for Sherlock, but knew that would be weird. He settled for Greg's.

Which was alright because Sherlock reached for John's. Abruptly the detective took off running, dragging his husband behind him. “I'll get there first, Mycie!”

The DI rolled his eyes. “You were definitely right about the whole bipolar thing.”

“I'm always right. At least where it concerns him.”

“You really have always been there, haven't you?”

“I've tried.” Mycroft smiled at his husband, then the smile grow to a full fledged grin. “Let's go show my brother how crazy golf is played.”

Sherlock was already at the small shack and a lady was handing over putters. The detective shoved his back and ordered an orange one instead. John took the black one happily, because the other two were pink and purple.

Having caught up with them, Mycroft shook his head at the sight. “Brother-mine-” He broke off at the disappointed look on Sherlock's face and took the putter. “These will do nicely.” Even so, he made sure Greg ended up with the pink one. At least with purple he could claim it was practically blue.

The lady handed over the small booklet where they could keep score and Greg made sure to take it. “John and I will handle this. Can't have the pair of you cheating, after all.”

“Gregory,” the government official said, feigning shock. “You know me better than that.”

The DI took a swing with his putter. “I think you mean I know you, full stop.”

Sherlock grabbed the orange ball that came out of the small chute and ran off to the first hole.

Satisfied with his pink club, Greg trotted off after the detective. “Oi! Wait for us!”

John pointed to the purple putter with his own black one. “I'll trade with you. You don't have to use that one.”

“It's fine, John, so long as it makes my brother happy.”

“I think we're here for you to be honest, Mycroft.”

The older man shrugged. “Honestly, it's fine. It's hardly the end of the world

John squinted at him, suddenly making a Sherlockian like observation. “You like purple!”

“It's my favourite colour, but if you tell anyone, I shall have you killed.”

John looked over his shoulder. “He knew that!”

Mycroft smirked. “You underestimate him.”

“I married him!”

“My point exactly.”

Jabbing his putter in the other man's direction, John said, “No, just no. Wait... you mean he's had his sights on me all along.”

Mycroft shook his head slowly and walked off towards his husband. “I'll leave you to your deductions.”

Both Sherlock and Greg had taken their go. They stood stamping their putters as if to hurry the other two.

Rather than being annoyed, John was actually very flattered. He'd had no idea that Sherlock's interest in him went so far back. The doctor did wonder, however, what the detective had seen in an ex army doctor to pique said interest.

Sherlock watched his doctor as he paced towards him. He'd already watched Mycroft for a moment to attempt to find out what they had been discussing, but John was a much better book to read. He smirked slightly as John kissed him.

When they broke apart, the detective chuckled. “You finally figured it out. And, in case you were wondering, what I saw was you. You were what caught my attention.”

John shook his head and then shoved Sherlock out of the way, dropping his ball behind the line.

“Stop trying to put me off, mister.”

When the doctor swung and hit his ball, it went directly through the loop, passed Greg's ball, and came out the canon. It stopped next to Sherlock's ball. “Ha! Your go, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smirked, he dropped the ball on his putter and tapped it a few times before letting it rest. He struck it hard. It took the same route as John's, but rolled passed them both and trickled to the hole. He casually walked off as it tipped into the hole.

“I thought you loved me,” Greg called out after him. “You're making me look bad.”

“All's fair in love and crazy golf, Gregory. This is both.”

That was it, the DI thought, no holding back.

He charged at Mycroft and hooked his putter under his chin, standing behind him and keeping him in a headlock.

“Give me the purple one.”

“But…”

“Now Mr. Holmes-Lestrade, or pay the consequences.”

“You underestimate me, Mr. Lestrade-Holmes. I could have your weapon and snap your neck in a heartbeat, however,” Mycroft let the words hang in the air for a moment, “I propose a wager. The winner of the next hole gets the purple putter.”

“Not compromising,” Greg whispered. He raised the putter just a little, cutting off Mycroft's air for the moment.

Through instinct rather than anything else Mycroft's hands came up and reached for the pink putter. The DI took his opportunity and snatched the purple one from his husband's raised hand. Greg raised it overhead in triumph, brandishing it like a sword. A mother and her two boys were stood nearby watching, the mother in horror, the boys with admiration. Greg kind of shrugged dismissively as he raced off towards his ball Sherlock had already putted.

“Freeze where you are, mister!” Greg barked at his brother in law. “You were about to move my ball. Back away and no one has to get hurt.”

John wasn't even paying attention to the antics of the other three men. He was entranced by a nearby foutain that shot dancing water into the air. When Sherlock spotted where his attention was he ran an jumped into the fountain For once, his antics were welcomed as there were already other children (genuine children, not childlike detectives) playing there. They chased the arching water as it danced from fount to fount.

John palmed himself in the face. “Why did I marry the baby?” He moaned.

For once Mycroft and Greg were laughing at Sherlock's behaviour.

“I'm sure that's not the first time you've said that about my brother, John.”

Just as John was about to make a comment, he jerked back as Greg ran between him and Mycroft, right into the fountain as well. The DI called out, “Come in, the water's fine!”

John closed his eyes and collapsed onto the nearest pirate rock. “Please don't tell me you are joining them?”

Mycroft shook his head and gave John a solemn look. “I must request a favour of you, John.” He held out his putter. “Hold this for me.” When the doctor took it, Mycroft ran for the fountain, yelling, “Geronimo!”

The doctor couldn't believe it. That was a the actual British Government. It didn't take him long to recall the past week, what the four of them had been up to, much of it at least slightly childish. So who was he holding back? John dropped the putters, the score cards and pencil and he joined the other three men and children in the mayhem.

Sherlock was the first out. He grabbed the many coloured balls, glanced over his shoulder and took off in a hurry. He knew it would be a matter of seconds before the three older men, also soaking wet, gave chase.

“Really!” John yelled. “Don't think you can get away with this! Greg, grab the putters.” He climbed from the fountain and headed in a different direction, determined to cut his husband off at the giant whale. As John rounded the whale however he saw Sherlock midway between his next step and the floor. Within a matter of seconds Sherlock had fallen, flat on his face, the balls flying everywhere.

“Babe-”

“Do not say a word.”

The doctor didn't. He tried to hold it in, but failed. John started sniggering, then giggled, then outright guffawed. Sherlock scrambled for the balls and threw them at him one at a time, yelling.

John caught them easily and slid them into his pocket. “Do you want to get up now?”

Sherlock rolled off his knees and sat on his arse, then he wrapped his arms around his legs as if he was sulking. “I'm not gonna.”

John walked over and knelt beside him, petting the detective's soaked curls. “Yes you do. There's loads more to see.”

The younger man shifted so his back was to the doctor. John just wrapped his arms around him and kissed his curls.

Mycroft and Greg soon came racing around the corner, the pair immediately laughing at Sherlock on the floor.

It took the older brother a matter of seconds to make a deduction. “Aww, does Ickle Sherlock not know how to not fall over?”

“Sod off, Mycroft.”

“Aw, it looks like he bruised his ickle ego, too. Come along and I'll buy you a big ice cream with all the toppings you want. Or even candy floss if you like. I'm sure we can find some somewhere.”

Sherlock scowled.

The doctor couldn't help but laugh. “Such a child,” he whispered as he began to tickle him.

It took a few moments but eventually Sherlock sprung to his feet yelping like a girl. “Alright!” He giggled. “Stop!” He twisted and tried to get away. “Please. I surrender!”

John stopped, but he didn't trust the detective not to pull another runner, so he held him by the arm.

Mycroft held his hand out. “I want my ball please, little brother.”

“I haven't got it. And I thought you said I could have ice cream?!”

“Your ball bounced off my shoulder. I think it went over there.” John pointed with his free hand, still not releasing his hold on his husband.

“Ice cream, yes.” Mycroft picked up the ball. “But can we finish our game first?” He sounded rather plaintive.

Sherlock put on a pout but it was clear it was fake.

Mycroft leant over and grabbed his brother in a headlock. The doctor had no choice but to let him go as Mycroft dragged him away, the younger Holmes' flailing around.

Greg, had joined them by now and had fetched the other balls. “You reckon that's what they were like as kids.” He tossed the purple ball in the air and caught it.

“Holy terrors, you mean? Yeah, mate. I'm pretty sure they were.”

Greg thought about their parents, “Do you reckon their mum knew then?”

“About Mycroft being gay? I doubt it. It's not like he's… girly gay.”

“Well, Sherlock wasn't exactly girly gay either.”

“Yeah, but there was always something about him, wasn't there.” John looked at his husband being dragged away. “I mean I hit on him almost immediately. Besides, she knew and made his life a nightmare, the bitch.”

“Mycroft told her.”

“Sherlock didn't.”

“I know, mate, but at least Siger is alright with it all. Actually there's something I wanted to show you.”

He pulled John to his side and pulled an envelope from his shorts.

“A member of staff dropped this for me yesterday.”

John stared at the envelope, “What's in it?”

“He's getting a divorce, told me to tell you so we can tell them,” he looked up and over at Sherlock and Mycroft. “He thought it best that we did it rather than them hear from a letter.

John took the letter and began to read through it. “That's... Wow.” John folded the slightly damp letter and handed it back. “We can't tell them now, obviously. They're having too good a time.” He sighed. “Over dinner?”

“If it feels right. There's really no hurry.”

“I do kind of wish that he had sent a letter to Mycroft, he always seems better at telling Sherlock these things.”

“I guess he didn't want to see the bond they've achieved now diminish again.”

“Fair point.”

“John! It's your turn!” a no longer sulking consulting detective called out. In fact, he was grinning and bouncing on his toes. “Hurry up before Mycie gets bored.”

“I'm not the one that gets bored!”

“You do get bored.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, he wasn't willing to argue over being bored of all things.

John went over and, with one shot, drove his ball directly through the windmill. “Why is there a windmill on a pirate ship, anyway? It doesn't make sense.”

“It's a dutch pirate ship obviously.” Sherlock grinned at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. “Mycie, it's your turn!'

The older brother rolled his eyes again. It was like his baby brother had suddenly reverted into a toddler… he supposed it was far better than sulking Sherlock or temper tantrum Sherlock. He took his turn... and the windmill sent his ball right back to him, causing Sherlock to laugh. Neither John nor Greg did, however. Mycroft frowned, something was definitely off. He tried again, this time, making it through the obstacle.

John was watching Sherlock and Greg was watching Mycroft.

It was only the government official that seemed to notice and all he could do was frown.

They played through the crazy golf course, Sherlock winning by sheer force of will (and great effort on the other three men's parts). They found a little restaurant that served an abundance of sweets and settled in to rest, ordering Sherlock pie and ice cream.

Mycroft glanced at Gregory when he knew Sherlock was distracted by many different flavours. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Gregory-”

“Now isn't the time, babe. Nor the place.”

“Is there a proper time or place?” John asked.

“Not really, but Sherlock's so happy right now. It'll keep.”

Mycroft leaned over and kissed his husband.

“What was that for?” Greg asked.

“For caring about his happiness.”

Greg smirked. “It's not his happiness that bothers me. It's the temper tantrum created when he's not happy.”

John joined his laugh, “Yeah, and I married him.”

Sherlock looked up, “It's the most intelligent thing you've ever done.” He poked a spoonful of ice cream at John's mouth. “Try it. It tastes like pink candy floss.”

The doctor dutifully opened his mouth and accepted the spoonful. It was surprisingly good. Almost as good as the butter popcorn flavoured jelly beans Sherlock had forced on him once.

“What are you talking about?”

The three other men shared glances. “It's not important.” It was Mycroft that answered. Which was a good job because neither the doctor nor the DI knew what to say.

Sherlock set his spoon down. “No it's important.” He looked from his brother to John. “John's eyes are all tight and Gavin wants a cigarette. Tell me and get it over with.”

John reached his hand across the table. “Not even Mycroft knows. Let's just enjoy our day while we're here. We'll tell you when we get back to the ship.”

“You know I can't do that. I can't turn my mind on and off at will. If I try, I'll just end up ruining the day anyway.”

John raised an eyebrow and sighed. “For me, Sherlock. Please. Please, just don't ask again until we get back. I'm not asking you to forget it, just delay it.”

The detective picked up his spoon and jabbed at the ice cream viciously. He ate it so fast for a while that he got a headache from the cold.

John sighed, but he couldn't tell his husband yet. He just couldn't. He half wanted to wait until they were home completely, back in Baker Street. If he couldn't find a way to distract him then he'd have to tell him while they were still on their honeymoon.

For his part, Mycroft was more worried about his brother than about whatever his husband had to tell them. Greg looked worried, yes, but not grim.

Sherlock wandered off, but it didn't take Mycroft long to deduce his whereabouts. He was staring up at the large pirate ship, just watching.

“Mycie, you know I won't be able to just forget about this. It's going to eat at me.” He let out a long sigh. “You have to convince them to tell us.” He kicked at a rock on the ground. “If they won't... I want to go home.”

“I don't know, Sherlock. They seem pretty convinced it would be a bad thing to do.”

“But-”

“You don't want to go home. Home is boring, remember?”

The detective let out another sigh. “I know. There aren't enough murders.”

In an uncharacteristic move, Mycroft put an arm around his brother and squeezed. “You trust John. Trust him with this.”

“But-” he tried again.

“Please, Sherlock. For me. Let's just enjoy our day, yes? And then we can plan what we want to do for the next few days.”

“Shark cage.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Alright, shark cage it is.” He looked at the pirate ship. “Thank you for bringing us here, brother-mine. I've enjoyed the reminder of our childhood.”

Sherlock spun on his toe and saw their husbands approaching. He clapped his hands, suddenly in glee. “We're not done yet.”

John breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently the subject had been dropped for now. “Really? What's next on the agenda, then?”

Sherlock took off, out through the entrance of the park and around the side. Frowning, the others followed him. They caught up to him at a pirate themed photography studio where he was already searching through pirate costumes to try on.

John rolled his eyes. “Really Sherlock?”

“Really, baby brother?” Mycroft corrected. “What are you? 5?”

“You said you enjoyed our childhood all over again.” He tossed John a hat and an eyepatch. “Find something to go with these.”

“Maybe I don't want to wear the patch.”

“Yes, you do. And Greg needs a peg leg.”

“Oi!”

Sherlock laughed. “What? It can't be worse than this.” He threw a parrot at his brother.

“Oh, good lord.” Mycroft looked at the feathered prop with some annoyance, but if it would keep Sherlock happy he'd wear the bloody thing.

Sherlock did look happy, the worrying topic of conversations mere moments ago seemed to have faded, at least for the mean time.

He didn't see John stepping forward in his daze, but the first Mycroft knew of it, Sherlock was on the floor giggling as John tickled him senseless.

Greg caught Mycroft's eye and winked as he completed putting together his pirate garb. The British Government had to step over the two giggling men to finish putting together his own costume.

“Are you two just going to roll around on the floor forever?” Mycroft asked. He plucked a spare parrot from the box and threw it down so it bounced off the back of his brother's head.

“Jo... John's fault,” Sherlock gasped between giggles. “Make him stop.”

“Don't you dare,” the DI warned his husband as he snapped a photo of the helplessly laughing detective. “This is too much fun.”

From out of nowhere, Mycroft snagged his husband's hand and took off, racing around the side of the little photo booth and hiding behind it. He pulled the DI down to the floor. He kissed him long and hard which gave him the chance to get his hands to Greg's most ticklish spots, then he attacked.

The proprietor of the little tourist photo shop looked on, amused.

Why Mycroft had felt the need to drag him away and do this in secret, Greg didn't know, but it was adorable all the same. The government official began nibbling on his ear.

Ok, the DI thought, maybe that had something to do with it. “Myc, unh, Mycie, Mycroft!” Greg pushed him away. “You can't follow through here, you tart. Besides, your brother...”

Sherlock stuck his head around the corner and looked at them, eyes wide and innocent looking. “What are you doing, Mycie?”

“Shove off little brother. You know damn well what we're up to.”

He smirked. “Yes, but really?”

“Shut it, 'Lock. Doctor Watson remove my baby brother from the room!” He raised his voice considerably.

John hugged Sherlock from behind. “Unless you want your brother to crash in on us tonight, I suggest we back out and leave them to it... trying on costumes, I'm sure.”

Sherlock laughed. “Yeah. I'm sure too.”


End file.
